But I’m more concerned with why Frankie is acting so strange with me.
We’re friends. Or at least, I thought we were. So what changed?
Unfortunately, there’s no way I can approach the subject while she’s so clearly grieving the loss of her aunt. Even if I didn’t have as deep a connection with Elena as Frankie did, the news of her death still hit like a punch to the gut.
“How did she…” I begin softly, not knowing how to approach the subject.
Thankfully, Frankie doesn’t need me to finish.
“Organ failure, we think,” she hiccups through a quiet sob. “None of us expected it. She was fine…really fine. She was active,energetic, playing around with everyone. Just the other day, we spent hours in the pool together, just messing around.” She shakes her head, looking genuinely lost. “When she went into labor, she was in high spirits. I didn’t see the birth of my baby cousin, but I spoke to her afterward and she was fine. Better than fine. Elena looked like the happiest she’d ever been.”
“So it was a home birth?” I ask curiously. “Wouldn’t it have been more prudent to take her to a hospital…given her condition?”
“I thought so too,” Frankie admits. “But after my aunt found out she was pregnant, she refused to go back to the hospital. The only doctor she allowed near her was Dr. Sokolov, and even then, he was only allowed to do the bare minimum. I think she did that to protect the baby just in case Uncle Misha was thinking of doing anything extreme,” she adds quietly, ashamed that the thought even crossed her uncle’s mind. “But Elena looked like the picture of health. I swear, her cancer was the least of our worries. I even thought that maybe the chemo she had last year had been enough. I prayed it was. She showed no signs otherwise.”
“So what happened?” Lucky asks.
Frankie’s eyes fill with a new batch of tears instantly. “After she gave birth, she was still in great spirits. Then a few hours passed and she got tired. Like… really tired. I thought it was just exhaustion from the labor. We all left her room so she could rest. And then…Uncle Misha went to check up on her…and…all we heard was his scream.” Her voice breaks. “It sounded like a wounded animal. I’ll never forget that sound. We all rushed upstairs to her room…and that’s when we realized she hadn’t been asleep at all. She was already gone.”
Lucky tightens his arm around her.
“Before he threw us all out,” Frankie continues, shaking, “I heard Dr. Sokolov tell Uncle Misha that her cancer must havespread during the pregnancy. That the hormones had created the illusion that she was getting better. Once she gave birth, the shock to her body was too much. Her organs began shutting down, one after another.” Her sob turns raw. “There we were, celebrating downstairs… while Aunt Elena was dying.”
Lucky pulls her fully into his chest as her grief finally breaks loose.
Tears sting my eyes as I picture the Petrov home, so full of love and joy one moment, only to be cruelly crushed into silence the next.
I need to see Kirill.
I need to be at his side.
And every second that passes where I’m not, is pure agony.
My heart clenches as I watch the scenery blur past the windows, silently praying for the driver to hurry. But it still takes nearly two long hours to reach our destination. By the time we arrive, my nerves are frayed raw, and doubt creeps in—wondering if my presence here will only make his pain worse.
I hadn’t stopped to think about that before.
Hadn’t allowed myself to consider it as a possibility.
Now I wonder if instead of making things better for him, I’ll only end up making them worse.
Frankie and Lucky slide out of the car first, wrapped in their own quiet world, walking toward the main house together. I remain frozen in the backseat for one more heartbeat before forcing myself out.
The moment I cross the threshold of the Petrov home, memories of the first time I stood here crash over me. Tears burn my eyes as I find myself wishing we could turn back time, to when Elena was still alive. Back when hope still breathed inside these cold walls.
Now I fear hope may never be welcome here again.
I stand in the foyer, uncertain of where to go next, when I see Kirill step out of the library.
He freezes the instant his eyes find me.
He blinks once. Then twice, as if not believing his eyes.
It’s like all the air in the room is sucked away, as he just stands there and says nothing.
I open my mouth to speak, but I never get the chance. Kirill strides forward, his steps quick and urgent. Before I can utter a single word, he pulls me into his arms and buries his face in the crook of my neck.
“You’re here,” he breaks on a sob. “You’re really here.”
