Page 134 of Blood & Snow
"This one," Anya declares, pulling free a medium-sized box wrapped in silver paper.
Her name is written across the top in elegant script that I recognize as Xander's handwriting.
It's a bittersweet revelation to me that he labeled them.
I wonder if he also hand wrapped each one, or if he picked them out himself too.
Mikhail selects a smaller package, also marked with his name in the same careful letters.
They tear into the wrapping with zest that only children possess, paper flying in all directions.
Anya gasps as she reveals a jewelry box, its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl and tiny gemstones that sparkle under the lights.
"Aw," she coos, almost whining at the pleasure she receives.
She opens the lid, and a delicate ballerina begins to turn while classical music plays from hidden speakers.
"It's beautiful," she breathes, her voice filled with wonder.
Her eyes rise to meet mine.
"Thank you, Aunty Nadya."
I nod at her but the sweet moment is interrupted as my nephew cheers in celebratory whoops and hollers.
Mikhail has uncovered a model airplane, but not the cheap plastic variety from toy stores.
This is a detailed replica of a military fighter jet, its surface painted with authentic markings and tiny rivets.
The metal is heavy and sturdy, and he's already swooping it around the air.
"Look at the propeller," he says, spinning the mechanism with one finger.
"It actually moves!"
I watch their faces, seeing pure delight unmarred by adult complications.
Xander somehow knew exactly what would bring each child joy.
The jewelry box plays Anya's favorite piece from her ballet class, while the airplane matches the posters on Mikhail's bedroom wall.
The thoughtfulness undoes me completely.
Tears stream down my cheeks before I realize I'm crying,hot tracks that blur my vision and make breathing difficult.
The generosity isn't random—it's targeted to show me exactly what I'm walking away from.
Like he knew before I did that I would try to run, and the trap was set to snare me the instant I spoke the words.
I cover my mouth and sob quietly, wondering what other torturous pleasantries await me when we tear into the rest of these gifts.
"Nadya?"
Irina's voice carries concern and confusion.
"What's wrong?"
Everything.
