Page 111 of Twisted Pact
I pull my hand away and cross my arms over my chest. “This is different from what Mama went through.”
“Is it? You’re pregnant. Dealing with constant threats. Watching men die because of decisions made to protect your family. How is that different?”
The parallel makes something twist in my stomach. He’s right. I’m following the same path Mama walked that led her to a breaking point where leaving was the only option she could see.
“I’m not going to leave,” I tell him. “That’s the difference.”
“I hope not. But despite all my insistence that you take advantage of this situation with Alexei, I would understand if you did. Choosing yourself doesn’t make you weak or selfish. Sometimes it’s the bravest choice you can make.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. “When did you become so understanding? You tried to make me marry Alexei instead of finishing school, for crying out loud.”
He takes a deep breath and replies, “I almost died, Mila. And when I was sitting in that chair, holding onto my life with everything I had inside me, I realized how much time I’ve wasted on anger and resentment instead of love and forgiveness.”
He says it so simply. Like nearly getting killed gave him clarity about what matters.
I’ve never heard Papa take responsibility for anything related to Mama’s departure. He always made it sound like she was weak. Like she failed some test of loyalty that the rest of us passed.
“I don’t know if I can forgive her yet.”
“You don’t have to forgive her today, but you should at least talk to her and let her explain. Give yourself a chance to understand her perspective before you decide whether the relationship is worth salvaging.”
“What if I talk to her and I’m still angry?”
“Then you’re still angry, but at least you’ll have tried. At least you won’t look back in ten years and wonder if you threw away a relationship that could have been healed.”
I think about Mama’s last email. I deleted it without reading a week ago. It’s probably similar to all the others I’ve ignored for months.
We’re both quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice carries regret I’ve never heard.
“I could have chosen her, you know. I thought this world was more important than one person’s comfort. I thought strength meant pushing through fear instead of acknowledging it. I was wrong about a lot of things, Mila. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
“Thinking that love means sacrifice without boundaries. Believing that family loyalty requires accepting whatever situation you’re placed in without question. Assuming that the people who leave are weak instead of recognizing that sometimes leaving takes more courage than staying.”
Each statement feels like a lesson he’s learned too late to apply to his life. Like he’s trying to give me the wisdom he wishes he’d had twenty-five years ago.
“Do you regret marrying her?”
“Never. But I regret how I failed her as a husband. How I prioritized everything except her happiness and well-being. If I could do it over, I’d make very different choices.”
“Like what?”
“Like listening when she told me she was scared. Finding ways to protect her from the worst parts of my work instead of expecting her to just accept it, or putting her needs first instead of always putting the family’s needs first.”
I think about Alexei, and how he’s tried to protect me. How every decision he makes factors in my safety and the baby’s well-being. How he risked everything to rescue Papa, even though it put him at odds with his organization.
“Alexei does that,” I say quietly. “Puts me first. Sometimes, I hate it, because it feels like control. But maybe he’s just trying not to make the same mistakes you made.”
“Then he’s smarter than I was at his age.”
“Or maybe he just loves me more than you loved Mama.”
Papa flinches, but he nods. “I loved your mother, but I loved my position and my pride more. And that’s what destroyed us.”
The honesty in his voice makes tears spill down my cheeks. I’ve been so angry at Mama for leaving that I never considered Papa’s role in driving her away.
“I’ve been awful to her,” I whisper.
