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“So it’s my fault you slept with your ex?” she’d asked, going all hysterical. “Three times!”
“No, but you have changed, you know,” he paused and frowned at her. “You’re not as fun as you used to be, Olivia. You don’t even like partying anymore.”
“That’s because I grew up, wanted to start a family,” she’d cried out of frustration. Then he had the audacity to suggest that they could still do all that in a few years once he got a bit more fun out of his life—he was almost forty. She moved out the next day. He was never man enough to apologize to her and actually mean it.
“Gosh, I can’t believe I cried for that guy,” Olivia said, trying hard to focus on the movie. Years of her life, gone. She always seemed to land in relationships where she’d get cheated on, and, most times, during the pain and heartbreak, she’d tell herself that it was all her fault for not acknowledging the red flags sooner. But the guys were so darn good at hiding them, and she always seemed to see the best in people—a great quality for a social worker but not for a thirty-something woman trying to find a decent man. Why could people not see through her quiet, calm nature to who she truly was: not boring, but loyal. Not naïve, but kind-hearted. Not stuck-up, but hard-working. Not clingy, but loving and devoted. It seemed that people these days were judged by their ability to drink and crack jokes—that was it.
She wasn’t sure how long the movie stayed on, but, hours later, when she slowly opened her eyes to the flashing lights from the TV, she yawned, turned it off, and went to her bedroom. A new day always brought with it hope. And besides, there was no better place to indulge in her fantasies than in her dreams.
***
The next morning, Olivia went to work. She might as well have been dropped into a loop, where everything played back as it had the day before. The doctors in the entrance hall barely glanced at her as she passed; their interested gazes were reserved for the pretty girls. Then she said hello to Mindy as always and went into the office.
Shortly after settling in at her desk, Mike, her supervisor, stopped by, which was odd in every way, given that he never dropped by to see anyone. The tall, older man had a curious look in his grey eyes as he said, almost in a hushed voice, “Do you have a minute, Olivia? It’s important.”
Olivia’s eyes widened and the man smiled, his smooth, bald head glistening. “Don’t worry, nothing to panic over.”
Olivia scoffed. “I’m glad I’m not fired.”
“Oh, no. You aren’t,” Mike said.
Olivia nodded and followed him into his office. A man was sitting on one of the white plastic chairs behind a big wooden desk, upon which sat a computer, several piles of paperwork, and a framed picture of Mike, his wife, and their two grown daughters, all dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters and smiling for the camera. The office was small but had its own window.The comfort of a supervisor,Olivia thought.
“This is Mr. Stanley.” Mike introduced her as the short, stocky, well-dressed man stood up. He had dark hair, which seemed dyed, and a trimmed moustache over his lips. There was an important air around him, so when Mike added that the man was a lawyer, Olivia wasn’t entirely surprised. He looked like one. His immaculate suit and confident grin screamedlawyer.
Mr. Stanley rose from his seat and stretched his hand out for a handshake. Olivia shook it, still trying to wrap her head around what was happening.
“I have some business to take care of,” Mike said to her, all smiles like he knew something she didn’t. He made his way toward the door. “Mr. Stanley here has to talk to you. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”
Olivia nodded, confused, as Mike closed the door behind him.
“Miss Carter,” the lawyer started as soon as they were alone. He smiled and adjusted his black suit jacket. “Why not take a seat?” he offered, gesturing to the other empty seat.
“I think I’m good,” Olivia said. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
The lawyer laughed, shaking his head as the rich, deep sound escaped his throat. “Quite the contrary, Miss Carter.”
She caught a hint of a European accent in his voice. It sounded well-refined. British? The lawyer lifted a finger to his moustache, running it along the length of the left side, then the right.
“I must apologize for showing up here unannounced.” He paused, smiled, and reached for a folder sitting on the desk. “But I would like to get straight to the point if that is agreeable with you?” He handed her the folder. Olivia took it, balancing it in her hands as she flipped it open.
Inside, she found several photos and a few documents, all on white papers except for one photo—which was clipped to the folder—of an old man Olivia wasn’t sure she recognized. He was wearing a suit and had a tall, slender stature. A good-looking man, Olivia thought, even for his age.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a seat?” Mr. Stanley asked again, but this time she didn’t respond. She scanned the file slowly, the expression on her face folding into a perplexed frown.
“This man in the picture”—Mr. Stanley pointed his long finger at it—“that’s your mother’s first husband, Andrei Rusu.”
Olivia glanced up. “Wait, what? My mother’s what?”
“First husband,” he repeated unemotionally. “You were not aware that she was married before?”
Olivia slowly shook her head. “I’ve never . . .She’s never mentioned him before. But my mom never spoke much of her life in Romania before she came here. She didn’t like to be reminded of it.”
He nodded. “Andrei Rusu was Romanian, just like your mother.”
The fact that her mom had been married before was shocking, but notthatshocking. Her mom was allowed to have a life before she met her dad. And yet, it had always bothered Olivia that she knew so little of her Romanian origins. She focused on the picture again, taking in the features of this Andrei Rusu. His focused eyes matched his brown hair, which had a few silver strands that fell over his lean, handsome face.
“There’s more,” Mr. Stanley said. Olivia shifted her gaze back to him. He smiled when she grabbed the white plastic chair and settled into it.
