And yet.
After she left, Lira locked the registry back in its cabinet. She knew an investigation would come. The deputy minister would make calls. Someone would notice the emergency stamp.
Lira almost laughed. "Impossible. Every birth, death, marriage—it’s all here." She tapped the ledger. "The gjendje civile doesn't lie." regjistri gjendjes civile 2018
"This is dangerous," Arjeta whispered.
"Official procedure," Lira said, her voice firmer than she felt, "requires a court order. Without an entry, you don't exist. You can't vote, marry, or get a passport." And yet
The next morning, Lira called Arjeta. "Come back at noon," she said.
Arjeta clutched the paper like a newborn child. She opened her mouth to thank Lira, but no words came—only tears. The deputy minister would make calls
"My mother died last month," Arjeta continued. "She told me on her deathbed: the day I was born, my father panicked. He was married to another woman. To save his reputation, he bribed the registrar to leave me out of the book. I was a ghost before I took my first breath."