- Maria.
- Please, Vera. Not today.
I didn't insist.
That was my mistake.
I don't know if she would have changed anything if I had insisted.
Maybe he would have told me the truth sooner.
Maybe I'd be angry with her.
Maybe we could have split up.
Or maybe we could have stopped wasting time.
But then I was just silent.
Twenty-seven years later, Maria did not come on the first Monday of the month.
I woke up at eight and even before I made coffee, I looked at the clock.
At ten without fifteen, I was already standing by the window.
At ten and ten, I was sure something had happened.
At ten and a half I called her.
Her phone was off.
I tried again.
Then I called her neighbor, Aunt Radha, who lived on the same floor.
She didn't pick up right away.
When she finally answered, her voice was shaken.
Verce... I didn’t know how to tell you.
- What happened?
- Maria. They found her last night.
I don't remember sitting down.
All I remember is that my cup of coffee was left on the counter and that there was no white envelope on my kitchen table.
Mary had died in her sleep.
Her heart had weakened a long time ago, but she didn’t tell anyone. Doctors recommended treatment, rest, less stress.
She kept going to work.
She kept coming to me every month.
She kept quiet.
There was a cold rain at her funeral.
Elitsa and Kaloyan came.
Kaloyan held an umbrella over me, even though the wind was turning the fabric and we were both wet to the knees.
Elitsa stood on my other side and cried quietly.
I also saw Maria's nephew, Victor.
I hadn't seen him in years.
He was a tall, well-dressed man about forty. He stood near the grave with his wife and mother, Mary's older sister, Tsveta.
They didn't come to greet me.
They were just looking at me.
That way that made me know that someone was talking about me.
After the funeral, Victor caught up with me at the gate.
- You're Vera, right?
- Yes.
My aunt was talking about you.
- And me for her.
- A lot.
I looked at him.
