After that quick prayer, I unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to see through. Relief came first. It wasn’t him.
Two men stood in the hallway, both unfamiliar and wrong in a way I couldn’t put into words. One wore a police uniform, and the other was in a black suit so neat it looked like it had never met a wrinkle in its life. They weren’t lost because they looked like men who knew exactly which door they were standing in front of and why.
I tugged my shorts down and smoothed my tee, aware of how I must have looked to them.
“Hi,” I said, pulling my voice into something that resembled normal. “Can I help you?”
“Good morning, Miss.”
The one in the suit spoke. He was tall, built like his body had an actual purpose, and composed in a way that felt practiced rather than natural. He looked dangerous, if I were being honest with myself.
“My name is Ivan,” he continued. “I represent Mr. Konstantinov. This is Officer Igor.”
Apparently, my life had decided that one disaster at a time was a slow pace.
I swallowed, the sound embarrassingly loud in my own ears. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You represent who?” I let the word sit there for a second. “And what exactly does ‘represent’ mean at seven in the morning at my front door?”
My eyes moved between the two of them, trying to figure out which of them was the bigger problem.
“I’m a lawyer,” he said.
My heart dropped.
Of course, that man sent a lawyer. Why would he show up himself when he could send someone neat, composed, and carrying a briefcase to rearrange my morning on his behalf?
“May I come in,” the lawyer added, “or would you prefer we speak out here?”
“Here,” I said, faster than I intended. “Here is perfectly fine.”
“Alright. I’ll be brief.”
He opened the briefcase and pulled out a file. “My client was made aware of the existence of a child you have publicly presented as his son.”
My throat went completely dry.
This had gone way past intimidation or threats whispered in the dark. This had a structure, a process, witnesses, and authority.
“Sir, look—”
He raised one finger without even glancing up at me. “Please. You’ll have time to speak.”
And just like that, I shut up. God, I hated this.
“My client intends to assume parental responsibility formally.” He maintained the same tone as if he were reading out a grocery list, “as well as spousal obligations.”
“He’s not the father.”
It came out sharp, as if saying fast enough would end whatever this was and land somewhere that mattered.
The lawyer nodded. “That is noted.”
He flipped a page, eyes scanning the document. “However, you have represented him as such. Under that representation, he has standing.”
I stared at him. Standing? All because of a lie I told in a moment of sheer desperation to a man who had no business being in my life.
“This is insane,” I said, and I meant every syllable. “Look, I lied, and I told him so. I even apologized for it.” I pointed to myself, then gestured back toward the apartment. “He is not his son. He is my brother.”
The lawyer studied my face in silence as though waiting for the first crack to show. But I didn’t give him one.
