He noticed the empty space beside me whenever we walked home at night.
Mid-story, he paused, tilting his head like he always did before asking something important.
“Mom,” he said slowly, “who is Dmitri Volkov?”
My heart stopped.
Just dropped, straight through me.
His small fingers tightened around the wooden boat in his hands—the little red-sailed one our neighbor had carved for him.
Where had he heard that name?
Who had spoken it?
Had Ruslan’s mute son somehow shared something in their quiet games? Had someone whispered in the hallways of the estate? Or... had the world outside my carefully constructed sanctuary finally reached him?
“Well,” Vanya went on, eyes fixed on the toy boat, voice small but steady, “I read in a book that sometimes... sometimes single mothers lie about the father being dead.”
He swallowed hard.
“So I started searching for my papa.”
My throat closed.
“But I only found one name.”
He looked up then—straight into my soul.
“Is Dmitri Volkov really my father, Mom?”
The room tilted. My vision blurred.
My heartbeat thudded painfully in my ears.
His eyes—his father’s eyes—were earnest, open, demanding truth with a determination that mirrored Dmitri so perfectly it was like being stabbed with memory.
“Mom,” he whispered, sitting up straighter in my lap, “you won’t lie to me... right?”
His small fingers traced the painted sails of his boat, but his gaze never wavered, sharp and steady, waiting for an answer that could unravel everything.
“We’re leaving Greece today.” I said, keeping my voice soft, though my heart hammered in my chest.
Vanya leaned against my thigh, his little fingers spinning the mast of his wooden boat. I let my hand fall from his curls, even as every part of me ached to hold him closer.
“There’s a wedding in Italy tomorrow—a family friend. We need to be there.”
“Italy?” His eyes widened, curiosity sparkling. “Will there be boats there, Mama? Big ones, with sails?”
I smiled despite the knot in my chest. “Maybe, my love. Maybe we’ll see some very big boats.”
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Will there be cake too? And maybe a dragon?”
I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’m not sure about the dragon, Vanya, but I promise there will be cake.”
He grinned, his small hand finding mine, his warmth grounding me. “Then let’s go, Mama. I want to see the big boats and eat the cake!”
Then he lowered his head, his dark eyes fixed on the little wooden boat as though it contained all the answers to the mysteries of the world.
