**The Seventh of July!**
“That cant be! Just a coincidence. But the name Andrew. The middle name and surname are different. Then again, adoptive parents can change those even the first name.” She stared at the mans portrait for a long time, as if searching for something familiar.
The woman in the town halls HR department processed the paperwork for the new employee, then made a call:
“Inna Andrewovna, could you come in? Your new cleaner is here.”
Soon, a woman entered the office and immediately addressed the newcomera lady well into her years.
“Youre the new cleaner?”
“Yes.”
“Im the facilities managerInna Andrewovna,” the supervisor introduced herself, then asked directly, “And you?”
“Faith,” the woman answered, then corrected herself at the silent question in her bosss eyes. “Faith Alexisovna.”
“Come, Ill show you your workspace,” Inna said, leading her out. “Youll be responsible for the entire third floor”
***
Faith was overjoyed to have gotten the job. Smiling, she took in her new domain.
“Two years until retirement, and I can even stay on after. The pay is decent£800 a month with bonuses. At least Dmitri and I can live comfortably now. The kids are grown and gone Oh, I dont even know the mayors name! How embarrassing if someone asks. Theres a display downstairs with photos of all the mayorsI should check.”
***
Returning from lunch, she paused by the display and read the mayors name: *Andrew Borisovich Born 1983.*
“Oh, hes still youngnot even forty,” she thought, then froze. *Andrew? 1983?*
She turned back, reading the birth date:
*The seventh of July! That cant be! Just a coincidence. But the name Andrew. The middle name and surname are different. Adoptive parents can change those even the first name.*
She stared at the portrait, searching for something familiar.
***
The new job kept her busy, pushing stray thoughts aside.
That evening, she talked at length with her husband before he retreated to his room to watch football, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Their flat was spaciousthree bedrooms now that the children had moved out. Dmitri still occasionally shared her bed, but less and less often.
Lying in bed, memories of her youth surfacedalong with the secret she had never shared with her husband.
Before Dmitri, she had a son. His name was Andrew. She was only nineteen thenno money, no job, just a cramped dormitory unfit for raising a child. She managed for six months before giving him up.
Three years later, she married Dmitri. They never asked about each others pasts. Soon, they had their own childrentwo daughters.
The girls grew up. One went to university in London, married, and now had school-aged children. The other also married and lived in Manchester.
Faith herself never had a proper career. For twenty years, shed worked as a facilities manager in a factory before it went bankrupt. Then a friends daughter suggested this jobcleaning at the town hall. She took it.
And now Mayor Andrew Borisovich, born in 1983. Faith didnt regret her life, but she had never forgotten her son. Hed even appeared in her dreams a few times. She just wanted to knowwas this him? Was he happy?
***
Days passed.
While cleaning one afternoon, Faith heard voices and saw Andrew Borisovich walking briskly with a colleague. Spotting her, he nodded and passed by, still deep in conversation.
For a moment, she saw *him*Victor, the boy shed loved forty years ago. Handsome, carefree, though shed always wished he were more serious. Now, looking at the mayor, she realized *this* was the man shed imagined Victor might become.
But Victor had vanished the moment he learned she was pregnant, promising to return after finding work. She waited, hoped then understood hed just run away.
*Is Andrew Borisovich my son?*
*If I hadnt given him up, would he be where he is now? But my daughters are happy. The eldest has a good home, a car. The younger is thriving too. Daughters but no son.*
*Would I have married Dmitri otherwise? No, everything would be differentfor me, for him, for Andrew. Unless maybe Andrew Borisovich isnt my son. Arent there countless coincidences in life?*
*Does it even matter? He has parentsparents who raised him since he was six months old. They probably never told him. Different surname, different life. He had a happy childhoodnot many working-class boys become mayor.*
***
After lunch, a younger colleague, Helen, approached her.
“Hi, Auntie Faith!”
“Hello!”
“Were celebrating Lucys birthday on Fridayshe cleans the sixth floor. Turning forty-five. You coming?”
“Of course!” Faith smiled.
“Great! Just £20 for the kittyand maybe bring something special?”
“Will do.” Faith handed over the money.
“We celebrate everyones birthdays here.”
“Helen, just call me Faith. Were colleagues.”
“Right, Faith!”
***
On Friday, they gathered in an empty office on the seventh floor after work.
The usual office party followedspeeches, sips of wine after each toast.
Then the door opened.
Andrew Borisovich walked in, smiling.
“Happy birthday, Lucy Olegovna!” He handed her a small gift.
“Thank you!” Lucys eyes brimmed.
“Join us!” the facilities manager urged.
“Just for a bit,” he agreed, sitting beside Faith.
She quickly filled a plate for him, and they poured more wine. He gave a toast.
Faith watched him, heart trembling. *This is my son.* She no longer doubted it.
***
He stayed twenty minutes before excusing himself.
“What a man!” said Kate, the longest-serving employee. “The last mayor wouldnt have bothered.”
“How long has he been here?” Faith asked.
“A year. Remember the election?”
Faith didnt. Dmitri handled such things.
“His parents are wealthy, you know,” Kate added. “But theyre not his real parents.”
“What?” Lucy gasped.
“It came out during the campaign. Rumor is, he didnt even know. The oddest part? He didnt react at all.”
“Kate, how do you know all this?”
“The deputy mayor under the last one was collecting dirt to keep her boss in power. Didnt workpeople chose Andrew instead.”
“So he still doesnt know who his real parents are?” Faith asked softly.
“Seems not. He loves the ones who raised him. A good man, our mayor.”
Faith looked at the door hed left through, heart aching with joy and sorrow. Joy that her son had done well. Sorrow that she could never embrace him.
*My fault,* she thought, smiling sadly. *I wont disturb you, son. Ill just always be nearby.*
Sometimes, the greatest love is letting go.
