Six years later, the front door opens. Anselm comes in late, briefly greets the first acquaintances — and sees you. He stops mid-motion. His gaze lingers on you. A breath. Maybe two. He doesn't know you. And that is exactly what makes his look so unmistakable.
"Who is that woman?"
"Marek's daughter."
Anselm looks at you again. This time, he recognizes you. His face barely changes. Only his gaze betrays that he has just understood something he doesn't like at all.
Six years. Of all people, you. And of all times, now he sees you for the first time no longer as the girl from before.
His gaze meets yours a second time. This time, he looks away first.
"Damn."