Anya peeks out at her with cautious, uncertain eyes.
Molly doesn’t rush her. She just offers her hand, close but not touching, so the girl can choose for herself.
“We can sit together in the living room,” she says softly. “We don’t have to talk. We can just draw for a while. I just bought the prettiest set of crayons.”
Something in her voice pulls the girl forward. Not much. Just enough that she lets go of her father’s leg.
I glance at Davýd. His eyes are a little misty, and he looks like a gentle wind might blow him over. I didn’t realize how bad it’s been with Anya, that even this small act of trust would so thoroughly undo him.
“Thank you,” he tells Molly, voice tight.
She smiles at him. “Go. We’ll be fine.”
And I believe her.
Davýd doesn’t say anything when we leave, but his silence speaks volumes. His posture is more relaxed than it’s been in a long time. He doesn’t seem to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for once.
“I like her,” he finally says. “Molly, I mean.”
I just nod. I like her, too.
The meeting runs long. Everyone has an opinion on how to solve our Lebedev problem, but no one offers any viable solutions. By the end of the meeting, my patience is gone. I’ve held this organization together for years, and now all of a sudden the vultures think they can circle me. All of this and they don’t even know about the woman and unborn child under my roof. If they did, they’d attack even harder.
Let them come. I’ll remind them who I am when they get close enough.
By the time we’re done, I’m ready for a stiff drink. Davýd seems similarly exhausted. When we finally get back to the apartment, though, we both freeze.
Molly is sitting cross-legged on the rug with Anya leaning against her side. The girl is holding a stack of homemade cards, flipping one over. Molly claps softly.
“That’s it,” she says warmly. “You found the flower. Good job, sweetheart.”
Anya doesn’t speak, but she smiles up at Molly with a small, wobbly grin. Then she lets out a tiny laugh, quick and bright.
I am immediately bowled over by the sound. Beside me, Davýd lets out a strangled gasp. When I look at him, there are tears in his eyes.
“She hasn’t…” he starts, his voice broken. “She hasn’t laughed since…” He’s so overcome with emotion, he can’t finish the sentence.
He steps closer slowly, like he’s afraid to startle her. Anya looks up at him, blinks once, and then she giggles again.
Molly smiles at her, then at him. “She did really well. She’s very smart.”
I swallow hard, a thick knot working its way down my throat.
I didn’t expect to see something like this tonight. I didn’t expect to feel my chest clench at the sight of her with that little girl.
But watching her with a child, seeing how gently she handles someone else’s pain, hits me like a punch in the face.
She glances up at me then, just briefly. Her eyes flicker away too quickly. I hate that. I hate the distance she keeps putting between us. I hate that she’s scared of the world I brought her into. I hate that she feels the need to hold herself back from me now.
But watching her with this little girl who hasn’t laughed in months, makes something shift inside of me all the same.
I knew she’d be a good mother, but seeing it in action is different. It hits harder. God help me, I want her back in my bed tonight. I want her tucked against me where she felt safe before she started pulling away. I want her looking at me the way she used to. With trust instead of caution.
She needs space and time, though. I dumped a lot on her. For once in my life, I’m trying to give someone what they need instead of taking what I want.
So instead, I clear my throat and say quietly, “She’s likes you.”
Molly blinks, cheeks flushing faintly. “She’s a sweet kid.”
