Page 116 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

I move to the living room, which is only a few feet and a half-wall away from the kitchen, while Ernestine delivers the news.

Ernestine had accepted Rose’s possible fate a long time ago—that much was clear.

June, however, had not.

And the way she sobs lets me know that she’s old enough to understand exactly what it means when she hears the words, “Mommy isn’t coming home.”

The loss of her mother is a horrendous blow. I can’t help but feel her grief in my own chest. It hurts so much it’s hard to breathe.

Ernestine holds June, whispers in her ear, and strokes her hair. After a while, June walks through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom, her shoulders slumped forward.

I want to pull the girl in for a hug, but I don’t know her well enough for that. My touch wouldn’t be a comfort to her. But I desperately want to make things better for her. And for Ernestine.

I thought telling them the truth would be better, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I should have sent a letter. It would have been impersonal and direct.

Or maybe I should have kept the information to myself. Maybe ignorance is better than heartbreak.

Still, selfishly, I’m glad I came. I hate seeing Rose’s family mourn her, but in a way, it brings me some peace. Knowing I’m not the only person who loved Rose… that I’m not the only one who misses her… It helps me remember that she was real.

“I should go,” I say, scooting to the edge of the sofa and getting ready to stand. “You all have a lot to process and I’m just in the way.”

Ernestine puts a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “Sit, dear. Have a drink and sit with me for a little while. Is that okay?”

I hesitate. “No, no, I don’t want to impose…”

She shushes me and pats the back of my hand. “Any friend of Rose’s is a friend of ours.”

“But you’ve been so kind already. I’m grateful for—”

“And that’s why you have to stay,” she says more firmly. “Accept kindness. It’s the only way we can make it through this world.”

“Okay,” I whisper, conceding. If only she knew how hard that is for me. “I can try.”

41

Arya

We talk for a while. The afternoon is dragging along. Dima said he’d call me when he was on his way back, but my phone hasn’t rang. He must be busy.

After a few hours, Ernestine checks her watch. “Oh, dear. I have to go take my medicine,” she says. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

I give her a gentle smile. “I’ll be right here.”

She smiles back, pats my knee again, and then shuffles off down to her bedroom. I sigh and rest my head back on the couch.

The grief comes in waves. Some moments feel untouched by the tragedy and the next, it feels like my world is tearing apart.

Mostly, I just sit and try to breathe through it all.

Then I hear June’s door open at the end of the hall, followed by shy footsteps. When she appears in the doorway, a rainbow blanket wrapped around her shoulders, I try to smile, even though it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Hi, June,” I say.

June bites her lower lip nervously and stands at the mouth of the narrow hallway, saying nothing.

“My name is Arya,” I explain. “I was… I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

The little girl looks so small as she tightens the blanket around her shoulders. “Did she say anything about me?” June blurts suddenly.

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