Sergei stopped.
Grisha stopped as well.
"Grisha," Sergei spoke, "do you hate me?"
Grisha looked at his back. "I don't."
Sergei nodded. "Good."
He kept walking forward. He walked to that row of stone houses, to the easternmost one, and stopped in front of Anna.
Anna lifted her head and looked at him. That face, just like hers, large, blurred, as if everything she saw was behind a layer of fog.
"Anna."
Anna's tears fell. "You—"
"My name is Sergei. I'm your father."
Anna stood up. The chocolate in her hand fell to the ground; the golden wrapper burst open, chocolate smeared everywhere.
"Why didn't you come to see me?"
Sergei didn't answer.
"When my mom died, where were you?"
Sergei didn't answer.
"I'm fourteen. You haven't come once."
Sergei reached out, wanting to touch her face. Anna stepped back.
"Don't touch me."
Sergei's hand froze in midair.
