Not answered to mikaldas past

Previously

…He picked up the red envelope again. Inside, behind the letter, was a folded piece of paper he hadn’t noticed. He opened it. It was a photograph. A young man and woman, standing in front of the library. Morė, younger, with a baby in her arms. And beside her, a man Mikaldas had never seen. On the back, in Morė’s handwriting: “Mikaldas, meet your father. The one who taught me recursion. He died in the fire. I never told you. Forgive me.” The hook pulled tight. Mikaldas’s world tilted. The recursion wasn’t just about the fire. It was about a truth he had never known—and a father he had never mourned.