Davýd’s expression breaks completely. He crouches beside Anya, touching her hand softly.
“I don’t know how you did that,” he tells Molly, voice shaking.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kids just need patience and a sense of security. Once they have that, they open up.”
There’s a beat of silence.
She doesn’t look at me when she sayssecurity. She doesn’t feel safe with me. Not anymore.
Molly helps Anya pack the cards away. Davýd thanks her again and again before taking his daughter home. When the door closes, it’s just the two of us standing in the living room. She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s cold. Or guarded.
“Goodnight,” she says softly.
She starts to turn toward the hallway, back to the guestroom. Away from me.
“Molly,” I say before I can stop myself.
She pauses. Looks back at me, just barely. “Yeah?”
I want to say a hundred things. I want her to know that she is safe with me, and I’d rather kill a million men than let her ever be afraid of me. Maybe that would only scare her more, though. Clearly, her problem is with what I do. It doesn’t matter that I’d burn the world down for her. If anything, that’s probably what’s created this distance between us.
All I manage is, “Thank you. For helping her.”
She just gives me a small nod, then slips down the hallway.
16
MOLLY
Working with Anya today was a welcome distraction from everything. She was the sweetest little girl, despite the challenge of not speaking. Even so, it didn’t stop us from having the best time together. It made me feel useful for the first time since I left teaching.
She found ways to communicate with me without ever uttering a single word. If she liked an activity we were doing, her face would light up and she’d get very excited. If she wasn’t particularly enthused, she would shut down and withdraw. It was easy enough to pick up on her cues and let her lead the interactions.
The best part was that for a few hours I could put aside my fears about my own baby. For a while, I could forget about who Samuil really is and what his choices could mean for our child. Then Davýd picked Anya up, and the thoughts started to flood back in.
After they leave, I go lie down in the guestroom, once again overwhelmed by my own fears. I fully intend to stay put and not come back out. I need to breathe. I need to think. Unfortunately, the quiet isn’t as peaceful as I’d hoped it would be. It feels heavy and suffocating and full of questions I don’t know how to answer.
I lie there for almost an hour, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to let my imagination spin out of control. The wordspakhanandBratvado terrible gymnastics in my mind if I’m left alone too long. And the more I think about it, the worse I feel. It’s a deep sense of dread and anxiety I just can’t breathe my way out of.
At some point, my stomach growls loud enough to make me jump, and then I can’t help but laugh at myself. I’m so keyed-up that even a sound as small as my stomach grumbling is getting to me. I try to think about what I’ve eaten today, and I know that my baby doesn’t care that I don’t particularly want to leave my room. My body and my baby need food.
Staying in this room feels safer, even if that’s just an illusion. Staying hidden won’t fix anything, though, and pretending I’m not hungry isn’t going to help either. So I force myself up, wrap my arms around my middle, and pad quietly down the hall toward the kitchen.
I hope the apartment is dark. I hope Samuil has decided just to call it an early night. I’m not that lucky, of course. The small lamps in the living room are on, casting warm light across the expensive furniture, and when I reach the edge of the kitchen, I stop short.
Samuil is sitting at the counter with his head in his hands. He’s as still as a statue. He’s not on his phone or laptop, and he’s not even pretending that he’s busy. He looks like he’s been waiting for me so long he’s almost given up.
His eyes meet mine immediately. We both freeze for a moment, caught off guard and unsure how to act. Then he straightens slowly, his movements careful, as if he doesn’t want to scare me.
“Molly,” he says softly.
Something in me falters at the way he says my name. It’s so gentle and careful it sounds like it takes him a lot of effort. I doubt he’s ever had to be gentle or careful with anyone in his life.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
“I was hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you,” he says earnestly. “I figured you’d get hungry eventually.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lie.
