We ended up working on the same massive project—a business center in St. Petersburg. Late one evening, I stepped into the hallway to call my daughter, Lisa. I didn’t know Anna was standing just around the corner, listening.
“I know, sweetie, I miss the stars too,” I told Lisa, my voice cracking with fatigue. “I’ll be home soon to read you the book about the planets. Papa promises.” I hung up and rubbed my face, exhausted.
When I turned, Anna was there, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. The icy professional mask had slipped again, replaced by something softer, almost sad. “You’re a good father, Ivan,” she said quietly.
It was the first time she used my first name without a title attached. The air between us shifted from professional tension to something dangerous. We weren’t colleagues anymore; we were two lonely people trapped in a high-stakes game.