"After your bath, Mommy will read you a bedtime story. A princess story." Elena's voice was soft and patient.
"I'll read her the story. You worked too hard today," I offered, even though I knew I was terrible at it.
Elena lifted her eyes to me—skeptical, surprised. "You sure?"
The nightgown fell open a little at the throat, revealing the curve of her collarbone. I forced my gaze away.
"Of course," I said. "I'll give it a try."
All the stories I'd ever known were about betrayal, revenge, and blood. But seeing Stella's expectant face, I didn't want to disappoint her.
"Great!" Stella clapped. "I want to hear Sleeping Beauty!"
Elena scooped her up and went to her room; I followed. The scene felt alien—a warm apartment, a woman fresh from the shower, a child waiting for a bedtime story. It wasn't my world, but I wanted it to be.
Stella's room was small: drawings plastered the walls, a few stuffed animals propped at the headboard, a little bookshelf filled with fairy tales. Elena set her down and handed me a pink book.
"You read first—get a feel for it," she said, then took Stella's pajamas and led her toward the bathroom.
I opened the book. The first page was Sleeping Beauty—princess, prince, true love's kiss. I frowned. Those things belonged to another life. My world had no fairy tales, only deals and debts. Still, I sat on the bed and tried to learn the story. The princess was cursed, slept for a hundred years, and a prince's kiss woke her. I pictured Stella listening, her eyes shining.
Time slipped while I read. The door opened again, and Elena came in with Stella in pink pajamas. The hot water had flushed the girl's cheeks a rosy red. Elena tucked her in and smoothed the covers.
"Igor will tell the story, but you must lie still and not cause a fuss," Elena said, planting a kiss on Stella's forehead.
"I'll be good!" Stellapromised.
Elena gave me a look—soft, complicated—and left the room.
"Igor," Stella said with those eager eyes. "Start, please!"
"Okay." I cleared my throat and opened to the first page. "Once upon a time, there was a princess. She was very beautiful."
"How beautiful?" she asked.
"The book says she was very beautiful."
"More beautiful than Mom?"
I stopped. "No one is more beautiful than your mom."
Stella giggled. I kept reading. "The princess lived in a castle."
"Was the castle big?" she asked.
"Very big."
"Bigger than the one we built?"
"Much bigger."
She was endlessly curious. Every sentence brought another question—what did the princess eat? Did she have pets? Could she build blocks? Answering softened me. It loosened something I'd kept tight for years.
When I reached the part where the prince found the princess, Stella began to yawn.
"Time to sleep, little one," I murmured. "You have to get up early tomorrow."
"But you haven't finished—" she protested.
