“He cut in front of you,” Roman says flatly.
She points at him triumphantly. “You see?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Roman glances at me, and there’s something almost shy in the corner of his mouth before he hides it behind another bite of food.
“He has always carried too much on his shoulders,” his mother says more gently now. “Even before he was strong enough to.”
There’s no accusation in her voice, just the truth.
Roman sets his fork down and looks at her steadily. “You weren’t alone.”
She reaches over and touches his hand this time. “No,” she agrees softly. “I wasn’t.”
For a second, something quiet settles over the table. Then she looks back at me with renewed curiosity. “And now he is rescuing women from bad situations,” she says lightly. “I suppose this is an upgrade from reorganizing my pantry.”
Roman groans. “Mama.”
But I see it clearly now. His instinct and protectiveness. The way he asked me last night if I wanted space instead of deciding for me. The way he waited for my answer. He wasn’t raised to dominate a room.He was raised to guard it.
“So,” Irina says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “how long are you planning on staying?”
I glance at Roman without thinking. He doesn’t answer for me. He just shrugs slightly, giving the choice back. “I think I’ll be leaving later today,” I say.
Irina’s gaze sharpens in curiosity. “Is that what you want?”
The question pulls a small, startled laugh from me before I can stop it. I press my fingers to my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asks gently.
“No one has ever really asked me that before.”
“My father tells me what to do,” I continue, keeping my voice measured. “And I listen.”
Irina nods slowly, as if she understands more than I’ve said. “I can respect that you respect your father,” she replies. “Loyalty matters. Family matters.” She folds her hands on the table, gold wedding band still on her finger even after all these years. “But if you are not doing what makes you happy, that is a very long life spent making other people comfortable.” Her words don’t come out harsh. They come out knowing. “I am not telling you to rebel,” she adds, her accent thickening slightly. “I am saying there is a difference between honoring your father and erasing yourself for him.”
I look down at my coffee. “My life has always been structured,” I say quietly. “There is a plan for me.”
Irina’s eyes soften, but they don’t look away. “Is it your plan?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t know how. Roman hasn’t spoken this whole time, but I can feel him watching me, not pushing, not rescuing. Just there.
Irina reaches across the table and touches my hand again, her skin warm and steady. “You deserve to be asked what you want,” she says. “Even if the answer scares you.”
Irina glances at the clock on the stove and exhales softly, as if she’s just remembered the rest of her day waiting for her.
“I must get out of here,” she says, pushing her chair back. “I have some things to do at home, and it sounds like you both have… things going on here.”
There’s meaning in the way her eyes move between Roman and me, but she doesn’t press pry.
Roman stands automatically. I rise a second later, because remaining seated feels wrong somehow.
She turns to me first. “Anastasiya,” she says, reaching for my hands. “It was very good to meet you. I hope to see you again.”
Her fingers tighten gently around mine before she adds, softer now, “But if I don’t, remember what I said. You deserve to have a say in your life.” The words land differently this time. Heavier. Closer.
Before I can respond properly, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me. The hug is gentle. I go still for a brief second out of reflex, then I let myself return it. Her embrace is warm and steady, and something in my chest loosens in a way I wasn’t expecting. “Spasibo,” I whisper against her shoulder.
She pulls back slowly, studying my face as if she’s committing it to memory. Then she turns to Roman. “You behave,” she tells him.
