Roman acted. He says it felt like justice.
I agree completely.
Never thought I’d be the type. I’ve always said people deserve second chances, and maybe that’s why I found bad boys so appealing. I thought I could be their second chance at a good life, while they kept their edge. Maybe that’s what Roman is for me now.
He would do it again to keep us safe. A year ago that thought might have frightened me. Now it steadies me, because I know that if he hadn’t finished Vitaly that night, I would have done it. I would have either killed Roman or Vitaly, there is no debate about that in my mind. Roman says that makes me the perfect wife for a pakhan.
I can’t say he’s right, since I’m not a pakhan, but I hope to be the perfect wife for him.
Often I find him in the nursery at two or three in the morning, in the low chair between the cribs. I’ve caught him there many times. Most of the time, I let him have his private time with our sons. But when he looks particularly forlorn, I try to shake him out of it.
The spoon clinks as I rinse it. The window over the sink frames the yard and the pond. Early light lies flat on the grass. A thin mist lifts from the water. If it were warmer I’d step out barefoot. It’s cold, so my toes curl on the marble floors.
I haven’t been in this house for very long in the grand scheme of things, but it’s already become a place I know by heart.
I grew up in a house that was ours, or so I thought. But then my father died, and I learned how fast a bank comes calling when you can’t make payments. Then, it was rental after rental. Moving in with a boyfriend I thought would be permanent, and finding out how wrong I was. One place after another that belonged to someone else when the chips were down.
Two months isn’t enough to erase the memory of feeling constantly, unpredictably adrift.
A quiet question keeps me company in the early morning light. Who am I now that the worst has happened, and I’m still standing?
I’m not the woman who thought she could fix a man. I know better now. I’m not the woman with fatherless behavior. I’m a mother and a wife. I’m not employed, but I’m also financially settled.
So much has changed in the past few months that it’s hard to catch up to reality.
Sometimes I touch the scar on my jaw and try to unravel all the complicated feelings attached to it. Closure is an odd concept. People say you have to forgive your enemies to move on, but I don’t think that’s true at all. I don’t forgive Vitaly for what he did to me. I never will. Forgiveness isn’t for him. It’s for me.
I forgive the girl who stayed too long with the wrong men.
I make small vows as I rinse the mug. Fear is not my identity. Love will not make me blind. I ask for help when I need it. I won’t shrink myself for Roman, our sons, or anyone else. That part of my life is over, just like all the energy I had created to deal with Vitaly.
That’s closure.
Some mornings I worry that loving a man like Roman will make me hard where I want to be soft. Then he tips my chin and asks if I want tea or coffee, and the worry feels silly. He makes me softer, not weaker. He makes me braver, not louder. He says I do the same for him.
I carry my mug to the door and nudge it open with my hip. Cold air nips my face. The deck boards are damp, but I walk them barefoot anyway. My breath shows and vanishes. I step out and pull my robe tight. The pond smells like clean water and weather.
The boys sleep late in the mornings, a grace I do not question. They wake up when the day is already running. For now, I have my quiet time. A month ago, I used it to check locks I had just checked. Today I watch the stripe of light on the water and let my mind think without bracing.
It’s the lack of bracing that feels misplaced or like it doesn’t belong to me. Bracing is an old habit that I tried to make useful. How do you prepare for the future without dreading what’s to come? How do you handle what might happen, if you haven’t already imagined a thousand terrible possibilities?
But still, my head is quiet. My body is loose.
Mom says I sound lighter when I speak now. I hear it too. Peace has a tone if you know what to listen for.
The door opens behind me. For a breath, the old current in my neck rises and fades like a memory I don’t appreciate my brain holding on to. I don’t turn. I already know who’s there. It’s not an attack, and it never will be again.
Roman’s arms come around me from behind, warm and careful because he is always careful with me. I lean back. The space between my shoulders and his chest fits the way it should.
“You’re up early,” he says into my hair.
“So are you.”
“Habit.”
“You seemed like you were sleeping well when I got up.”
He chuffs a laugh. “You know what? I was.”
