"That's enough."
"No, it isn't." I stepped closer, something shifting inside me—some final chain breaking free. "I spent my whole life trying to be good enough for you. Working harder, achieving more, shrinking myself smaller to fit into the box you'd built. And it was never enough. I was never enough."
"Gabrielle—"
"I'm done." The words came out strong, steady. "I'm done seeking your approval. I'm done trying to earn something you're incapable of giving. I have a husband who loves me. I'm going to have a baby. I'm building a life that has nothing to do with you."
His eyes dropped to my stomach, noticing for the first time the small swell under my sweater. Something flickered in his expression—not warmth, not joy. Just calculation.
"A baby," he said slowly. "And this husband of yours—he's wealthy, I assume? If he was able to orchestrate a kidnapping—"
"Don't." I held up my hand. "Don't try to turn this into an opportunity. Don't try to insert yourself into my marriage, my child's life, my future. You had your chance to be my father. You chose to be my critic instead."
"I was trying to prepare you for the real world—"
"You were trying to control me. To shape me into something you could use." I stepped back, toward the door. "I'm not that person anymore. I'm not your daughter anymore. Not in any way that matters."
His expression hardened. "If you walk out that door, you walk out of this family. No inheritance. No connections. Nothing."
I laughed. Actually laughed. The threat that would have devastated me a few months ago now seemed absurd—a child threatening to take away toys I'd already outgrown.
"I don't need your money, Father. I don't need your connections. I don't need anything from you." I opened the door. "Goodbye. I hope someday you find whatever it is that might make you capable of love. But I won't be waiting around to see."
I walked out without looking back.
The elevator descended slowly, and I watched the numbers tick down with a strange sense of lightness. Like I'd been carrying a weight I hadn't even recognized until I'd finally set it down.
It was over. The approval I'd chased my whole life—I'd finally stopped chasing. Had finally accepted that it wasn't coming, and more importantly, that I didn't need it.
I had Vasily. I had Lisa. I had a baby growing inside me.
I had myself.
The doors opened onto the lobby, and I walked out into the gray New York afternoon. Vasily was waiting by the car, his eyes finding mine immediately, reading my expression with the intensity I'd grown to love.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"It's done." I walked into his arms, letting him fold me against his chest. "I said goodbye. Or maybe I finally said hello—to myself."
"I'm proud of you."
The words were simple, but they hit me like a wave. My father had never once said them to me. Had never acknowledged anything I'd achieved, anything I'd survived, anything I'd become.
And here was Vasily—this man who'd turned my life upside down, who'd dragged me into darkness and somehow led me to light—saying the words I'd waited my whole life to hear.
"Take me home," I said against his chest. "I'm ready to start our future."
He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Whatever you want, little dove. Whatever you want."
Epilogue - Vasily
10 Months Later
I woke to the sound of my daughter's laughter.
It was a small sound—more a gurgle than a true laugh—, but it cut through the haze of sleep like sunlight through clouds. I lay still for a moment, listening, letting the reality of it wash over me.
Six months. Six months since we'd returned from New York. Six months since Gabrielle had walked away from her father and chosen the life we were building together. Six months of watching her body change, her belly grow round with our child, and then—
