A storm of emotions swells in my chest, each one more powerful and confusing than the last. It’s hitting me all at once, and it freezes me in place. I sigh the only thing that answers are the trees shivering under an endless blue sky.
I’m alone.
The tears start falling, and I allow sobs to surface. I focus on my belly, wishing with all my heart for things to be okay. Wishing for a brighter tomorrow. Wishing for the strength to handle what’s to come.
And wishing, most of all, that my baby might have had the chance to know their father.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pavel
Nothing is the same without Liya.
The mornings feel like they drag on. The afternoons are tense with silence. And the nights are bitter and cold. Resentment dwells where joy once thrived. Not an inch of this place isn’t soiled by her memory.
It’s odd to walk through the safe house and not find Liya sitting at the kitchen table. She usually had her morning tea there. If not there, then on the porch. Even at our worst, she stuck to her rigid routine. Because, truthfully, she had every right to do so.
Her threats remain an ache in my chest that refuses to quell. As I reach for the coffee pot, I sense the presence of another. Stepan perhaps has an update. Or Kostya wants to check in. They’ve been more attentive than usual.
I can’t complain. Even when I want to.
But the voice that greets me isn’t one of my brigadiers. It’s my sister: “Dobriy utro.”
“Morning, Karinka.”
“How did you sleep?”
What a useless question. Still, I want to talk to my sister. I want to feel like things are at least moderately the same. “Same as the night before.”
“Can you pour me a cup?”
I take the pot with me to the table and serve my sister coffee. Joining her puts me at ease.Something normal.I crack my neck and bend over my mug, inhaling the scent repeatedly.
She’s quiet for a while. It’s what she does when she wants me to speak first. As much as I crave her company, I don’t feel like playing games or being chided for my decisions. It’s on her mind as much as it’s on mine: Liya is gone.
Yet she doesn’t say a word.
I clear my throat and gesture to the porch. “Do you want to eat outside today?”
“You’re a mess.”
I look past her, refusing to meet her gaze. “It’s going to be sunny all day. No storms.”
“Pavel, look at me.”
Reluctantly, I let my gaze fall on her. She looks as concerned as she does irritated. She reaches for my hand. I retract it, tucking both hands into my lap as I turn away.
“What are you going to do?” she asks. “About Liya?”
Agitation makes me curl my hand into a fist, and I fall back to a familiar refrain. “For what reasons do you need to know?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your brigadiers, Pasha. I’m your sister, not your enemy.”
My fist loosens. She’s right about that. She doesn’t deserve my ire just because I’m angry—whether at Liya or myself, I still don’t know.
Without Liya around, I feel like a ghost wandering through the house. It’s only been a few days, but even that has been enough to show me how deeply she buried herself in my day-to-day, into my very soul. From the sound of her laugh to the sight of her smile—everything about her made everything about me better.
I focus on my mug. “I’m giving her a head start.”