someone crossed the border, she documented.
When someone followed the rules, she was not looking for a reason to provoke him.
When a conflict arose, he did not choose the “strong”, but the right.
That didn’t make her a favorite.
It wasn’t necessary.
One morning a young prisoner named Martin came to her.
He was twenty-three, thin, with cropped hair and constantly strained eyes. He was serving a sentence for theft.
“Mrs. Doneva?” He asked quietly.
“Yes?”
“Can you—” Can you help me with a letter?
She looked at him.
“You can write.”
“I can.” But I don’t know what to say.
Ralitsa led him to the office desk in the common room. She handed him a piece of paper and a pen.
“Who f?”
“On my sister.”
“What do you want to tell her?”
Martin lowered his head.
“I’m sorry.
Ralitsa did not write for him.
It was not
