Page 101 of Porcelain Vows

“I know that, too.” Stella meets my gaze directly. “But I also know what it’s like to lose everything. To feel completely alone. She’s my sister, Aleksei. I talked to her in my head for twenty-seven years without knowing she was real. I can’t abandon her.”

I move closer, leaning against the counter beside her rather than across from her. The subtle shift feels significant— no longer opponents but partners facing a problem together. I catch her scent— chamomile, honey, the lingering traces of forest soil and blood.

“We’ll need security protocols,” I say, already thinking practically. “Psychiatric evaluation. Clear boundaries.”

A small smile touches Stella’s lips. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a ‘we’ll try,’” I clarify. “One step at a time. First recovery, then psychiatric assessment, then we’ll see about longer-term arrangements.”

She nods, accepting these terms. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn. “This could end badly in a dozen different ways.”

She could try to kill you again.

Or me.

Or herself.

Or all of us.

“Or it could be the beginning of something healing,” she counters. “For all of us.”

The optimism in her voice should sound childlike given our reality, but somehow it doesn’t. Perhaps because I’ve seen Stella’s strength, her ability to forge connections in unlikely places. With Bobik, with my mother, even with Diana. Perhaps because I’ve witnessed how family— real family, not just blood— can transform even the darkest circumstances.

Ona ne ponimayet, vo chto my vvyazyvayemsya.

She doesn’t understand what we’re getting into.

“One day at a time,” I repeat, reaching for her hand. She takes it, our fingers intertwining. Her skin is warm from the teacup, slightly damp, familiar in a way that I’m growing to love. Just like the rest of her.

Outside, the rain hammers harder, washing away the last traces of my father’s death day, of Sofia’s suicide attempt, of old identities and assumptions. Inside, in this kitchen, something new begins to take shape— a possibility I couldn’t have imagined this morning.

Family has always been my weakness and my strength. Now, it seems, it’s also becoming my redemption.

Bozhe moy.

God help us all.

Chapter Forty

Stella

I balance the tray carefully as I knock on Sofia’s door.

The herbal tea sends tendrils of chamomile and lavender into the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and honey— comfort food from Maria’s recipe collection. After a moment’s pause, a faint “come in” reaches me through the heavy wood.

Sofia sits propped against pillows in the guest bed, her forehead bandaged, wearing a borrowed silk robe. The private doctor assured us the wound wasn’t life-threatening— the bullet had grazed rather than penetrated— but the physical injury seems almost incidental compared to the psychological one that drove her to that forest clearing.

“Good morning,” I say, setting the tray on the bedside table. “I thought you might be hungry.”

She eyes the food warily, as if suspecting poison— an irony not lost on me, given her previous attempt to drug my meals through Imelda. The thought comes without bitterness; understanding someone’s actions doesn’t require condoning them.

“Thank you,” she says finally, her voice raspy from yesterday’s tears. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” I pour tea into a delicate cup, adding a spoonful of honey. “Would you like to talk, sister?”

The word hangs between us— unfamiliar, powerful, loaded with a lifetime of implications. Sofia’s lips curve in the faintest smile.

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