He turned slowly toward Sofia, who was returning with the glass of water in her hand. Her face was pale, her mouth dry, her eyes fixed on the photograph, then on her. Sofia watched him with an unreadable expression, a mixture of pain, resignation, and a silent truth that needed no words. The water pitcher slipped from her hands, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor, but neither of them seemed to notice. The boy in the photograph was his son.
Alex froze, unable to tear his gaze away from Sofia. The silence was deafening, broken only by the dripping water escaping from the shattered shards of the pitcher. His mind raced, processing the image of the boy, his undeniable features, the truth Sofia was conveying without a single word. Reality hit him like a freight train. He wasn’t just his son; he was the son he hadn’t known he had, the heir to a part of his life he had completely ignored.
“Who… who is he, Sofia?” Alex finally asked, his voice barely a rough, unrecognizable whisper. He pointed at the photograph with a trembling hand.
Sofia bent down slowly to pick up the shards of glass, her back to him. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if each action required immense effort. “His name is Daniel,” she replied, her voice subdued. “He’s five years old.”
Read more on the next page >>
For more detailed instructions, please click the button below (>) and follow us on Facebook.
