—Anna. Sorry to show up like this, out of nowhere. My wife, Carol... passed away a few weeks ago. Before I died, he asked me to find you.
Something moved on his face. Recognition. Sadness. A tired understanding.
“Yes,” he said quietly. I think I know why.
He stepped aside.
“Come on, Walter. You better sit down.
He served two cups of coffee with slightly shaking hands.
What did Carol want me to know?
He sat in front
to me.
“I never turned you down because you left town.
I felt a cold walking my chest.
“Then... why?
Your mother went to my apartment. Spring 1985. He wore that grey coat with his fur collar. You remember?
I remember it.
“He sat on my couch and told me I wasn’t right for you. That was the wrong origin, the wrong family, the wrong future for their son.
I turned the cup on the table carefully because my hand had begun to shake.
