Instead —
He chose pain.
He chose permanent damage.
To prove something.
To me.
Or maybe to himself.
The guilt hit harder than the anger ever had.
Unwanted.
Unfair.
I didn’t ask him to mutilate himself.
I asked for a symbolic price.
Not this.
Not something that would permanently change his face.
Not something that would haunt our daughter when she grew older and noticed the scar where an eye once was.
The thought made my chest ache.
Inside the room, Petros’s voice lowered — calmer now.
“Hold him steady.”
“Don’t let him move.”
Then softer:
“Ruslan... stay with me.”
Silence followed for a few seconds.
Then Ruslan spoke.
His voice was broken.
Hoarse from pain.
“...Is it enough?”
The words were strained.
Barely audible.
“Is it enough?”he repeated.
“Did I pay?”
Petros didn’t answer immediately.
