“Like when Papa fixes the swing set. Remember? It breaks — and he makes it strong again. They’re doing the same thing. Just working hard.”
She tilted her head.
“They shout.”
“Sometimes fixing things is noisy.”
Her lips pressed together thoughtfully.
“Will they stop?”
“Yes.”
I cupped her cheeks carefully.
“Soon. And when they stop, everything will be quiet again.”
She studied me for a long moment — searching my face for lies.
Then she nodded.
“Okay, Mommy. I be quiet mouse.”
The innocence in her words nearly shattered me.
“Good girl.”
I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to hers.
I inhaled deeply — memorizing the smell of baby shampoo, warmth, and safety.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.”
I kissed her forehead and sealed the panel shut.
The click felt permanent.
Final.
Like I was closing a door on the only safe part of my world.
I turned — and the house exploded with my father’s voice. “Elena!”
The sound ripped through the foyer like a gunshot.
My body flinched automatically.
Ruslan still hadn’t returned my call.
Without thinking, my thumb swiped his contact again — as if repeating the action would somehow make him answer.
Ring.
Voicemail.
Ring.
