“Second is not always better,” said Elena Nikolova, Anna’s mother, calmly.
His words were not spoken aloud. But they seemed to touch everyone’s hearts. The room became so quiet that you could hear the spoons falling on the plates. No one moved.
Mrs. Rumyana Georgieva, his mother-in-law, turned pale. Her face was frozen, her smile falling like a mask after a performance.
Elena didn’t move. She didn’t shout. She just spoke—clearly, coolly, like someone who had been silent for a long time but couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“Yes, I am a cleaning lady. I was. And I am not ashamed. I mopped the floors in the hospital every night, and in the morning, when Anna went to school, I made sandwiches for her from the last dishes. I worked three shifts so that she could study, graduate from university, and become what you call ‘someone.’”
The brother-in-law opened his mouth but said nothing. His gaze froze, as if he had suddenly realized that he was losing his composure.
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