Margo | Eng. version

𝟐𝟐| 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

"What's such a secret that you couldn't tell me in a half-empty café?"

The wind ruffles my hair and I frown. I put my hands in my pockets even though I'm wearing gloves and wait for Rock to say something, but he's deep in thought, looking ahead as we walk. He's like an underworld king. He doesn't seem to mind the cold at all. Untouchable, rude and unpleasant. If I were one of the people passing by, I would have thought he was my bodyguard.

"That's enough Seth, tell me what's going on."

He beckoned me to him with his hand as he lowered himself onto a bench. Since it's windy all people do is rush home and struggle with umbrellas, of which, God knows, there aren't many.

"Margo, I've done some research on the people you've been working with since you joined us. I've done some research on the children you've raised."

He looks at how I make a grimace and frown, but his otherwise rough face full of scars looks gentle, somehow sad. If I didn't know him, I would think he was sorry for investigating me.

"How dare you...? Where did you get the courage to...? You promised."

I stand up, aware that I cannot form a simple sentence full of anger and disgust and get away with his empty promise. I won't do that. I will destroy him without a second thought.

"Margo. Margo!"

He grabs my arm and before I can try to pull away he pulls me back onto the bench.

"I didn't do it to hurt you. You have to listen to me. It's about Hugo, Celine, Sybil, Omer, Kevin... The life they lived. Listen to me."

Margo couldn't understand her expression. She couldn't understand how broken she looked at that moment. She couldn't understand how she understood everything before anything was said. She stood in the wind and cold with slightly agape mouth that trembled every time she wanted to make any sound, tangled hair and wide eyes, her sense of hearing dulled after the names of the children she loved, fought for... She knew even before Seth pulled her back.

"Margo I'm sorry. Listen to me... Can you hear me?"

Seth asked her gently, aware of the shock she had just experienced. He held her upper arm with one hand and with the other gently patted her cheek to bring her back to consciousness, but Margo nodded dumbly.

"I hear you."

She managed to utter, and after that sank into the bench, trying to force her mind to stay conscious.

"I've done research. I've reached people I never could have because of knowing your secret."

She hid them well, even miles away from her. But not good enough.

"None of them could inform you because most of those people are dead. I found two older people. They were too protective, too determined not to reveal anything for a reasonable sum of money, even under threat of death..."

"Sebastian and Nicholas. Fred's connections. Two of the most reliable people I've ever had in my life."

She knew even though he didn't describe them properly. The only two that would pass muster for her, as well as for Fred, were the only two father figures she had with her.

"Yes. After that I told them everything I know about you and Fred and the...kids. They knew you trusted me enough to trust me with that secret so they trusted me with theirs."

In just six months spent in the mafia, Nicholas and Sebastian had to separate to opposite sides of the world and follow all the events from aside. They rarely heard from Margo and Fred due to their secret identities, but every time they received classified documents sent from Vegas they knew that Margo had set another child on the right path.

"Margo . . . There is a list of male and female names. All the children were at least once surnamed Cords. There are thirty-nine crossed out names on the list."

Seth expected crying, hysteria, maybe even shock again, but Margo closed her eyes tightly and there, far away from this cold wind, she felt warmth. She heard children's laughter, saw the sparkle in the eyes of young people.

During the few minutes that Margo spent in her remembrances, Seth watched her warm tears through her tangled thick hair. When she rested her head on his shoulder he knew she had fallen asleep.
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On the border between reality and dream stands Helen, as she would be if she were still alive.

She smiles and waves at me.