But because they were confirmation of what I had found out the day I told them about the pregnancy.
They weren't afraid for me.
They feared for themselves.
Six months earlier, I had invited Sylvia and Michael to lunch.
I've prepared their favorite things.
Stuffed peppers for Sylvia.
Homemade moussaka for Mikhail.
I had bought a strawberry cake because the grandchildren would come later.
Todor was in Russia at the time. I wasn't ready to tell them about him yet.
We sat at the dining room table.
Sylvia was telling me about her work. Mikhail complained about some repairs in the office.
I looked after my children and thought about how much they had grown.
Then I said,
I have to share something with you.
They fell silent.
"I'm pregnant.
At first they thought I was joking.
Then they saw my face.
Sylvia laughed nervously.
"Mom, that's not funny.
"I'm not kidding.
Michael turned pale.
"What does that mean?"
It means I’m expecting a child.
Sylvia started crying.
Not for joy.
"You're sick?" Anyone blackmail you? Has anyone cheated you?
"No.
"Who's the man?"
I’ll tell you when the time comes.
Mikhail stood up.
There is no “time.” This has to end.
At that moment, I realized they weren't talking about me.
They talk about the inconvenience.
For the people.
For the neighbors.
About what our last name will look like.
"I won't stop the pregnancy," I said.
"You can't do that!" cried Sylvia.
"I'm already doing it.
Then the calls started.
First every day.
Then a few times a day.
“Think about your health.”
“Think about what people will say.”
“Think about us.”
But the words “think about us” gradually began to mean something else.
Michael asked me if I had changed my will.
Sylvia asked me if Todor was entitled to my properties.
Then I learned that they had gone to a notary to ask how to ask for a bar.
The day Emilia was born, they sent me a letter.
Not a congratulation.
Not flowers.
A request for a court assessment of my mental state.
Then I cried.
Not because of the case.
But because I found out that my children no longer see their mother.
They see a key to inheritance.
In the courtroom, Sylvia finally spoke.
"That's not fair.
I looked at her.
"What's not fair?"
You have done everything secretly. You haven't told us about Todor. You didn't tell us about the procedure. One day he told us he was having a baby.
Because I knew how you would react.
"How could you know?"
Because I know my children.
She swallowed.
I was afraid for you.
Maybe at the beginning.
And now I am afraid!
"From what?"
She looked at Emilia.
From the fact that you won’t be able to. That you'd get sick. That you'd die. That this girl would be without a mother.
Her words hurt me.
Not because they were not possible.
