Svetla was a part of our lives.
He wasn't trying to replace Stefan. She didn't expect us to forgive her for the delay. He was just showing up. He was coming to Nora's birthday. He was wearing a homemade pie. He sent pictures of Stefan's childhood. Sometimes he stood with me on the terrace and we were silent.
That was enough.
The investigation led to charges against two people linked to the construction firm. The case was long. The news briefly referred to “an old case of new evidence.”
For me, it wasn't an old case.
It was my life.
But in the end, there were convictions.
Not enough.
Never enough.
But there was an official admission that Stefan's death was not accidental.
One day Nora and I went to the place near Botevgrad, where the crash was.
I hadn't been there since the funeral.
The road was repaired. The guardrails were new. There were trees on both sides, grown tall over the years.
Nora was wearing the black suit.
It has already been revised on its measures. The jacket stood well on her shoulders. Underneath it was a white shirt and a small silver brooch.
“Is it weird?” she asked. “That I wear it?”
"No.
I feel like everyone expects me to be like him.
I looked at her.
You don’t have to be like him. You must be yourself.
What if I'm like him?
I smiled.
Then the world will be lucky.
She laughed softly.
Then he took a small package out of his bag.
There was a picture from the ball inside.
We didn't do it. A student had photographed the moment Nora and Kalina stood next to each other—Kalina in the lovely dress, Nora in her father’s costume.
