Page 164 of Dirty Damage

I climb the sweeping staircase, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. The upper floor is flooded with natural sun from a skylight, casting leaf-shadow patterns across the hallway.

Five bedroom doors stand open, beckoning me.

The first room I peek my head into has a set of bunk beds against the back wall with superhero sheets clinging to the mattresses. A house this big and a couple kids still have to share?

Getto share, maybe.

For the first time, I imagine Oleg and I with multiple children. Actual parents to an actual family.

I pull the door closed.

Professional art worth what must be hundreds of thousands of dollars hangs in the hallway, interspersed with tacked-up crayon drawings. One is of a stick figure holding a dog’s leash. The person and dog both have wide, toothy grins. M-shaped birds fly across a big yellow sun.

Four more stick figures are lined up on a hill in the back.My familyis scrawled in the bottom corner in messy block writing. TheFis backwards. It’s utterly adorable.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I whip around before they can fall.

I’m being stupid. It’s a kid’s drawing. So what if I never once drew a picture of a happy family like that? So what if I never had anyone to pin my drawings to the walls? I’m an adult. The time for crying about what I never got is long over.

I move to the last room, pushing open the door in hopes of a beige-painted guest room. Instead, I find a pink paradise. A four-poster bed is hung with gauzy curtains. The vanity in the corner has Broadway-style lights around the mirror. Disney princess posters cover one wall—Moana, Ariel, Ella.

I would’ve killed for this bedroom as a kid. Again, the flash of golden eyes and curly hair I’ve been imagining more and more often lately appears in my mind.

But it’s more than just an image of our imaginary daughter. The part of the fantasy I left out when I told Oleg was the way I see myself holding her in my arms…

… and Oleg sitting next to me, his arms wrapped around us, cradling us both to his chest like we’re the most precious things he’s ever had.

Like we’re all he’s ever wanted.

Like we’reenough.

“Am I right in thinking you want dibs on this room?”

Oleg’s voice startles me from behind. I twist around and find him leaning against the doorway, a carefree smile on his face.

I try to blink the fantasy away before he can sniff it out and slap the same expression onto mine.

“Hot pink bedandprincess curtains? It’s every girl’s dream.”

Oleg sees right through me. He always does.

I turn away to hide my face, but his arms slide around my waist from behind. Just like they did in my fantasy. “What’s wrong, Sutton?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” I swallow hard. “I never thought I’d have a home like this.”

“It’s time to expand that imagination of yours.” He presses a kiss to my neck. “All of this can be yours.”

All of it?

Even you?

The ring on my finger feels suddenly like an anchor dragging me down. All of this—the house, his easy smile, the way he can’t seem to go more than a day without surprising me with a ring, flowers, a house—is concrete around my ankles.

Like I’m being pulled to the bottom of the ocean, with no hope of keeping my head above the waters of reality.

I pull away, needing space. “It’s too much house. Five bedrooms? Six and a half baths? Who do we need all of that space for?”

“For our future family.”

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