Veronika’s call came as he cracked open the second vodka bottle. She’d always had a knack for bad timing.

“Deniz showed up here.”

“I figured.”

A long pause, then, “Says he wants to move back to Munich.” Strange that he could hear her careless shrug even on the phone. She wouldn’t welcome her son, but at least she wouldn’t say no.

Twenty years ago, he’d welcomed a tiny wrinkled creature into the world, and known from the first relentless squalls that his life would change forever. He just hadn’t expected this.

Deniz was gone. Maybe it was for the best.