“Those doctors were paid,” Mikhail interrupted. “Our mother is a wealthy woman. With her money, she can buy any report she wants.”
The judge gave him a stern look.
“You will speak only when you are asked a question.”
Mikhail fell silent, but I saw him clench his fist.
Then Silvia’s lawyer stood up.
“Mrs. Mileva, is it true that your husband died forty-six years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And that you never remarried after his death?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then how do you explain the birth of this child?”
A murmur swept through the courtroom.
I held Emilia a little tighter.
“I am prepared to explain everything, but only when the other person involved in this story arrives.”
“What other person?” the judge asked.
I looked toward the door.
It was closed.
He had promised me he would come that morning. But the hearing had already been going on for forty minutes, and his seat was still empty.
For the first time, fear gripped my heart.
Had my children done something to prevent him from coming?
Had he changed his mind at the last moment?
Silvia’s lawyer placed a photograph on the table.
It had been taken at my husband Georgi’s funeral. I was only thirty-three then, dressed in black, standing beside the closed coffin.
“Mrs. Mileva,” the lawyer continued, “are you claiming that the father of this newborn is a man who was buried nearly half a century ago?”
Silvia turned toward me in horror.
“Are you talking about Dad?”
I didn’t answer.
“Mom, that’s impossible!”
“I know how it sounds.”
“No!” she shouted. “Don’t you understand? This proves that you’ve lost touch with reality!”
Emilia woke up and began moving restlessly. I tried to calm her, but my hands were trembling.
The judge watched me for several seconds before asking:
“Where are the child’s birth certificate and medical records?”
My lawyer placed another folder in front of him.
“The documents are authentic. Genetically, the baby is the biological daughter of Mrs. Mileva.”
“And who is the father?”
At that exact moment, the courtroom door opened.
