I nod. The kettle starts to hum, and for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen is that soft, rising boil.
Once the water’s ready, I pour and drop in a pair of tea bags. The smell of chamomile fills the kitchen. I carry one of the mugs over to Kira.
She takes it with a quiet “Thank you,” her hands shaky as she wraps them around the cup.
I sit down across from her at the counter. The space between us feels strange. I don’t know what to say to her. I’m not used to seeing her like this.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.
Kira blinks at me, like she doesn’t quite understand the question. I can’t blame her. I’ve never exactly gone out of my way to be kind to her, either.
She sniffles and brushes the back of her hand across her cheek. “No. Not really.”
I nod and wait for her to speak. I can tell she wants to. That she’s filled up to the brim with something and needs to unburden herself, but hasn’t yet decided if she trusts me enough for that.
She stares into the tea for a long moment before speaking again. “I went to see Dimitri this morning.”
My chest tightens. “How is he?”
Her lips press together. “Still struggling. The doctors keep saying he’s improving, but it’s slow. Too slow. Some days, he’s alert, and I start to think we’re turning a corner. Then the next day, he can barely speak. Petyr wants to bring him back to the house, but I don’t know. He needs so much help. And watching him like that…” She shakes her head. “It’s killing me, Sima. I pray you never have to go through that.”
I look down at my hands, tracing the rim of my cup with my thumb. I can’t imagine seeing Petyr like that. Strong one day, broken the next.
The thought alone sends a wave of panic through me. I understand her fear more than I want to admit.
But for me it’s a hypothetical, far and unlikely. To her, it’s reality. Her husband left one day and didn’t come back. Just pieces of him, struggling to fit together again.
Kira takes a deep breath. “You probably think I deserve it. After everything I’ve said to you.”
“Of course not,” I hurry to say. “No one deserves to go through something like this.”
“Not even your horrible sister-in-law?”
“You’re not horrible.” I’m surprised to realize that I mean it. “I think you’re exhausted. And scared. And, sometimes, we’re not at our best when we let fear take the wheel.”
Just look at what I did when I was scared,I think but don’t say.
Kira gives a hollow laugh, wipes her eyes again. “You’re not wrong.”
I take a slow sip of my tea before speaking. “I know it can’t be easy,” I continue. “Seeing him like that. And… living here. With me.”
“You mean the daughter of the man who did this to him.”
I nod. “Yeah. That.” I brace for her anger, but it doesn’t come.
Kira sighs. “It’s hard sometimes. I look at you and remember what happened to him. But then I remember you’re not your father. You’ve never been him. When I’m being rational, I know that.” Her fingers tighten around the cup. “But it’s difficult to stay rational sometimes.”
Her tone is softer now, and it throws me off-balance.
“I can’t blame you for what he did,” she adds. “It’s just… hard to forget.”
“I know.” Guilt fills me, the same that rose up when Luka confessed every horrible thing my family did to his. “If I were you, I’d probably feel the same.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re Saint Sima. Patron of squishy bits. Always ready to forgive.”
“Hey!” I realize I’m laughing. “I’m notthatsquishy.”
“True. You can bite.” She throws me an amused look. “But you never bite unprovoked. That’s more than I can say for most women in our shoes. Being raised Bratva… it changes you.”
