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Her mother spun back around and snatched the birth certificate from Ulla. “Because Peter Johansson is a horrible, horrible man, and I never wanted—I wasn’t ready to explain any of this to you, not like this, not now.” She screwed her eyes shut.
“What did he do that made you run away with me in the middle of the night? That nearly got you killed!” Ulla’s tears came unwelcome. But as she unleashed them, she knew they’d been waiting, building, multiplying, and finally unable to remain silent any longer. “I almost lost both of you!”
Her mother’s expression mirrored her own. “I’m sorry, älskling, I never wanted it to end like that. Never. But I had to do the right thing. And Peter—” Her mother always seemed to lose all language when evoking Peter’s name.
She reached to embrace Ulla, but Ulla refused her mother’s consolation, deflecting her hands. “How can you not know who got you pregnant! That is such a lie—you’re such a liar!”
That silenced her mother.
“Mamma?” she whispered, resorting to pleading. “What happened?”
“You’re right, I did lie. I had an affair with someone I shouldn’t have. I had to get as far away from him as possible.”
“Why?”
“I just did.” Her mother’s vision appeared to glaze over at the concrete floor.
“Who was he?”
Her eyes appeared to retreat into the past. “A man I met once by accident. We weren’t meant to be together.”
“He doesn’t know about me?” Ulla said in a small voice, peering at her mother.
Ronja opened her mouth as if grasping for a response. Her face drew inward and she released a pained gasp. “He knows.”
Ulla’s anger simmered. She held the birth certificate in her hands. “You don’t have to lie about Peter being my father just because you hate him.”
“You have me,” her mother cried. “Me. You don’t need a father.”
Defeated and weary, Ulla dared to say, “I miss him.”
Her mother planted her hands on her hips as if composing herself, and nodded briskly, her voice now mechanical. “Peter was very charming. And he was good to you. At least that much I can say.” She locked Ulla’s gaze and pierced her with the next command, “Don’t you ever go looking for him, don’t you dare utter his name to anyone, you hear me? No one. If he came back into our lives, terrible things would happen.” She took the crinkled birth certificate, folded it, and handed it back to Ulla. “Go and put this where you found it.”
“Why not throw it away if it’s a lie?” Ulla poised to rip it.
“Stop!” Her mother cried and reached for the paper as if it were a treasure.
“What terrible things! I’m not some little girl who can’t handle the truth.”
“Fine,” Ronja surrendered.
Ulla spared the certificate.
“Do you know what the mafia is?”
“Like in the movies?”
“No, not like the movies, Ulla. Like real life.”
“Peter was involved with the mafia? That’s why you don’t want him to be my father?”
“He’s not your father!”
“Why do you wear his ring!” she demanded.
Ronja, as if confused for a split second, looked at her left hand, the gold band on her ring finger. “It’s not a wedding band. Moderskap. I wear it for you, älskling. Not Peter.”
Ulla discharged a growling, aggravated sigh. It was time for her trump card. She raised her chin. “I found something else with my birth certificate.”
