Page 57 of 10 Days to Surrender

Very tall.

Like, very tall.

My pen hovers. The page blurs. All the things I can’t bring myself to write down go spiraling through my mind’s eye.

His forehead pressed to my hospital bed rail as he prayed. Desperate mutters in Russian. A palm spanning my entire belly and the two worlds contained within it when he climbed in beside me, all restrained strength, like he could shield us from the world with just his ragged breath.

I shiver and redirect my attention to the other half of the page.

Cons:

Lied about Jasmine.

Violent.

Like, very violent.

It’s a stalemate.

Outside, warm rain slaps the courtyard tiles. Sasha’s voice slices through the storm, arguing with Kosti about how to repair the sputtering generator. He leans against the villa’s crumbling fountain, one hand pressed to his ribs. Even from here, I see the tension in his jaw, the damp sheen on his temple.

Stubborn protectiveness,I write in theProscolumn, then immediately scratch it out. That’s not necessarily a good thing—his overcautious hovering drives me crazy half the time. The sad little salad at my side is proof of that.

Sasha’s voice raises up over the wind. “—said ‘generator for everything we could ever need.’ Does that not includeactual fucking power,Kost?—”

“—told you I haven’t been here in years! I’m not a damn electrician, son. I barely know how to dial?—”

Jasmine tugs Kosti’s sleeve to pull him away from his rant. “Let Sasha play handyman. We need groceries before the roads flood anyway. You and I can take the trip into town.”

The engine of the Peugeot coughs to life. Sasha starts to head inside. But just before he disappears from sight, he pauses and looks up at my window. He stands there, silhouetted, soaked shirt clinging to the hard lines of his back.

The pen squeaks in my hand.

I should resent this. The performative martyrdom. The way he’s grafting himself into the infrastructure of my survival, one repaired fuse and forced beet salad at a time.

But all I taste is hope as he limps down into the cellar.

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