Page 112 of Twisted Pact
“You were hurt. People do cruel things when they’re hurt. And now, you get to decide if you want to keep punishing her or if you want to rebuild something.”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know how to stop being angry.”
“You can start by acknowledging that her leaving wasn’t about you. It was about her survival. Then, you decide if understanding that changes how you feel. When you become a mother, you’ll understand things about your mother that don’t make sense right now. You’ll understand how loving your child can coexist with being overwhelmed by the responsibility. How you can want the best for them while also recognizing you might not be capable of providing it.”
“Are you saying Mama didn’t love us enough to stay?”
“I’m saying she loved you enough to leave before the stress destroyed her. Before she became someone who couldn’t mother anyone because she was too broken to function.”
The distinction feels important. The difference between abandoning your children and removing yourself from a situation that’s making it impossible to be a good mother.
“I need to think about this.”
“Take all the time you need. But don’t take so long that you lose the chance to heal this relationship. Life is short. Shorter than you realize when you’re young.”
He stands carefully and leans down to kiss my forehead. “Get some rest. Let your body heal. And when you’re ready, call your mother. She’ll answer. She’s been waiting for months.”
After he leaves, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything.
Maybe Papa’s right. Maybe holding onto this rage takes energy I need for other things.
Like preparing to become a mother.
Papa’s right about one thing. I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder if I threw away a relationship that could have been saved.
I need to make peace with my past before I can build my future.
30
Alexei
Mila’s crying filters through the bedroom door.
I stop halfway down the hallway with my hand suspended over the handle. Every instinct screams at me to burst in there and fix whatever’s causing her pain. But something about the quality of those sobs makes me pause.
This isn’t panic or fear. This is something deeper that might need space instead of interference.
I lower my hand and lean against the wall beside her door. Leonid passed me in the hallway ten minutes ago, looking like someone who just survived his execution. His face was still a mess of bruises and swelling, but something in his eyes suggested the conversation with his daughter went deeper than discussing his rescue.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text from Dmitri.
Novikov made a formal complaint through intermediaries. Claims we violated neutrality agreements by attacking his facility.
I type back quickly.
He kidnapped Leonid. That violated about twelve protocols.
Agreed. But now he’s positioning himself as the victim. Making noise about retaliation.
Let him make noise. We have Leonid back. That’s what matters.
I pocket the phone and return my focus to Mila’s door. The crying has quieted to occasional sniffles. Part of me wants to respect her privacy. The other part needs to make sure she’s okay.
The door opens before I can decide.
Mila stands there with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Were you listening?”
“Debating whether to interrupt.”
