Sasha flinches like he's been struck. His breath hitches, and I see tears starting to well up in his eyes.
"What was her name?" Fyodor continues, oblivious or uncaring about the boy's distress. "Where did you live? How long was she sick?"
"Stop," I bite out. "Can't you see you're upsetting him?"
"I'm just asking questions." Fyodor's jaw tightens. "He's my son. I have a right to know about his life."
"You have a right to ask him, not interrogate him like a criminal." I shift my chair closer to Sasha, angling my body between him and Fyodor protectively. "He just lost his mother.He's terrified and alone in a stranger's house. The least you could do is show some compassion."
Something flickers in Fyodor's eyes, but it's gone too fast for me to decide what he was thinking. He leans back in his chair, and the leather creaks. "Fine. Sasha, would you please tell me about your mother?"
Tears are streaming down Sasha's cheeks, and though the words spoken by Fyodor are more polite, his tone is still harsh. These two are worlds apart. It feels like Fyodor has never interacted with a child in his life, but I see he's trying. Maybe my being here really is a necessity so these two can bond at some point.
"Her name was Murial," I say quietly, hoping to break the terrible silence. "Right, Sasha?"
He nods in a jerky movement that makes his whole body tremble.
"And you lived in an apartment near the school," I continue, keeping my voice gentle. "With your books and your drawings. You showed me some of them once, remember?"
He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears across his cheek. Fyodor watches this exchange with one eyebrow lifted. His fingers drum against the table surface. He really has no tact at all. "How long was she sick?"
I watch Fyodor carefully for any hint of emotional connection to this child, but he might as well be made of stone for all the reaction he shows. He sets the glass down and picks up his spoon again to continue eating. As he does, I manage a few small bites too, and Sasha picks at his bread at last.
My heart hurts for the little boy in front of me. Being taken from one life to be forced into another is hard enough, but doing so with a guardian who knows nothing about children would traumatize the most well-rounded child. I'm beginning to feel thankful I'm here for this rather than angry with Fyodor for taking me.
When Sasha looks up at his father for the first time, I watch his expression. He looks fearful but he also looks determined too.
"Did you find my mother? Because you said to that man that you want to find her…"
My entire body goes rigid as I turn toward Fyodor, praying with everything in me that this man has a bit of empathy as he delivers this news, but I'm not surprised to hear his curt response.
"Your mother is dead, Sasha." He says it bluntly without any lick of compassion. "You're not going home because there's no home to go back to. You live here now with me."
Sasha's face crumples, mouth opening in a silent gasp before the sound finally comes out. A high, broken wail that tears through the dining room and makes my throat constrict so hard, I can't breathe. He pushes back from the table, causing the chair legs to scratch across the floor, and then he runs. His footsteps slap down the hallway, followed by the slam of a door.
I stand so fast my chair tips backward and crashes to the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you?" My hands are balled to fists and I'm glaring at a man who could break me in two if he wanted to.
Fyodor blinks at me, genuinely bewildered. "I told him the truth. He needed to know."
"He's ten years old!" My voice rises to a shout as all the fear and frustration and rage I've been holding back for two days finally breaks free. "His mother just died! You don't just blurt that out at the dinner table! You sit him down gently, you prepare him, you let him process it with support and kindness!"
"I answered his question." Fyodor's voice remains infuriatingly calm, though his eyes darken to an inky black that appears soulless. "What was I supposed to do, lie to him?"
"You were supposed to have some basic human decency!" I'm shaking now, my whole body vibrating with fury. "You're supposed to be his father, and you just traumatized him all over again because you can't be bothered to learn how to speak to a child!"
Fyodor stands and moves around the table toward me, and I instinctively take a step back. But he's faster, his hand shooting out to wrap around my bicep before shaking me. It stings and I wince, but I can't get away.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that ever again." He speaks in an angry and threatening tone "You're in my house and you're here because I allow it. Remember that."
The anger floods through me so fast, I don't think. My free hand comes up and connects with his cheek in a slap so hard, his head snaps to the side, and for a moment, we both freeze. I can see the red mark already forming on his face and the shock in his eyes as he turns back to look at me.
"You have a lot of growing up to do if you're going to be a father." I yank my arm free from his grip, and he lets me go. "That boy needs patience and kindness, not a drill sergeant barking orders and dropping bombs on him at dinner. Either do what I tell youor let me go home. There's no point in my being here to help him adjust if you're not even going to try."
I'm seething, chest heaving with anger as I glare up at him. Then I turn and walk away before he can respond, following the sound of Sasha's crying. It leads me back to the guest room, where I find him face-down on the bed with his face buried in the pillow. His whole body shakes with sobs, and the sound is so broken it makes my throat close up.
When I daydreamed about saving this little boy from the trauma of his mother dying, I never imagined it would be this crucial to his wellbeing. Now I know if I don't stay here to help him, he will grow up to be a monster just like his father.
And I won’t let that happen.
