I lie back against the ice, staring at the ceiling as tears cling to my lashes. The white lights overhead hum softly, blurring into gentle glows.
Eventually, I’m wrung dry. The silence wraps around me in its icy embrace, and for the first time in forever, I let myself simply be still. The cold bites through my dress, but I lie there anyway.
No running. No pretending. Just me.
Avelina.
And tonight, I let the emotions wash through me as I try to remember who I was…and who I wanted to be.
The day before I start the new job in Viktor’s office, I decide to run some errands. Sofia’s shoes are getting tight, and Babulya offers tolook after Leon while I take Sofia to the mall today to pick out new ones.
Viktor drives us there and arranges to pick us up in an hour.
The next sixty minutes are spent visiting various stores, but Sofia is not keen on any of the shoes she tries on. Her autism means she finds new clothes and shoes difficult because they feel very strange to her body. I would order them online, but with shoes, I’ve found we only get a good fit by trying on shoes with the help of a knowledgeable assistant.
The third store we arrive at is the last store I planned to visit today. But as I help her try on a pair of shoes, within a few seconds, Sofia has reached her limit. Her scream rips through the store like a siren.Piercing and raw.
My heart pounds as she collapses onto the cold, tiled floor.
Her little hands are clawing at her shoes like they’re burning her skin. Her face is bright red, wet with tears, and she kicks out as she screams at the top of her lungs.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her, trying to soothe her. “We can take them off. And we’ll go straight home.”
But she’s too far gone. Her stress spirals higher, feeding off the bright lights, the chatter, the clatter of footsteps. The store feels too small, too loud, and too full of people for her.
And they’re all staring. I can feel their eyes like poisonous needles in my back. Mothers clutching their children closer, an older woman tutting loudly, a man muttering something about a lack of discipline.
My cheeks burn. I want to scream at them that this isn’t a tantrum. That my little girl isn’tbad.She’s just overwhelmed. She’s just neurodivergent. And she’s just struggling with the world today. But my throat is tight, and my words are trapped beneath a lump of shame and exhaustion.
With trembling fingers, I wrap my arms around her as her heels drum the floor. I’m trying to hold her tight as a woman shoves past me, snapping that I’m in everyone’s way. Her tone is so cutting, making me feel like I’m about to burst into tears, when a deep, steady voice cuts through the chaos.
“Move!” the voice growls in a low rumble.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as Viktor strides in, all dark authority and barely leashed fury.
He crouches beside me, his big frame shielding us both from the gawking crowd. His gaze sweeps over Sofia, then me.
“They needhelp, notjudgment,” he grits out at the onlookers, each word sharp and precise. “If you don’t understand the difference, get out of the way.”
Silence falls. People scatter. And they’re suddenly fascinated by anything that isn’t us.
My breath hitches.No one’s ever defended us like this before.Not even Geliy when something similar happened when he was in a store with Sofia and me.
Viktor takes over from me, holding Sofia tightly and speaking to her in a low voice, until she finally calms down forty minutes later. He’s unbothered by the people who dare to glance at him or my little girl. His sole focus is Sofia and making her feel better.
Then Viktor’s hand brushes mine, grounding me. “Let’s take her home,” he murmurs.
And with him by my side, I finally feel like I can breathe—and like my little girl can feel safe.
We head back to the car. When we reach the parking lot, I’m holding Sofia’s hand as she walks beside me. Viktor walks on her other side, tall and steady.
We’re halfway across the parking lot when it happens.
A car horn blares at another car which pulls out in front of it. The sound is sharp and sudden. The other car responds with its own blaring horn. Sofia screams.
The sound tears through me like broken glass.
Her whole body jerks.
