"She loved me back. At first. We were happy. Six months. I kept the work away from her. Lied when I had to. But she was smart. Started asking questions. Noticed the money. The late nights. The men who came to our flat with envelopes and fear in their eyes."
His voice hardened, the warmth draining out like blood from a wound.
"When she found out—really found out—who I was, what I did… she freaked. Said she couldn't live like that. Couldn't raise a child in that world."
He looked at me then. Waited for my reaction.
"I was happy when she told me she was pregnant. Truly happy. First time in my life. I thought—maybe this is it. A son. A family. Something real."
He coughed again. Wiped blood from his lip with a napkin, the white linen coming away red.
"But she couldn't accept it. Started hiding. Running. I'd find her—always. Bring her back. Promise I'd change. Lie, of course. The life doesn't let you change."
His eyes went cold. Empty.
"When she realized she'd never escape—never be free of me—she chose the only way out she thought she had."
He shrugged, like it was weather. Like it was inevitable.
"Took the pills. Eight months pregnant. Wanted to take you with her so you wouldn't be born into my world."
Silence stretched. Heavy. Suffocating.
"I got the call too late," he said quietly. "She was already gone when I arrived. But you—they cut you out. You lived."
He leaned forward.
"I was proud, even then. My son. Strong. Survivor. Like me."
I stared at him. At this dying man who'd watched my mother choose death over him. Who'd let me grow up alone, orphaned, fighting in pits for survival.
"You watched me fight," I said. Voice flat. "In the pits."
He smiled. "Of course. Sometimes from the shadows. You never fell. Never quit. Even when you were bleeding, even when the odds were shit—you won. Every time. That's my blood."
He paused.
"I saw you with her too. The girl. Alena. On the street once, years ago. You hugged her goodbye. She walked away, and you watched her like the world had just left with her."
His eyes met mine.
"I recognized that look. Because I had it once. With your mother."
He raised his glass again. "So, drink. To love. The thing that destroys us best."
I didn't drink.
But I didn't leave either.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part of all.
Then I said it.
"Let me talk to her."
Klaus raised an eyebrow, amused. "The girl?"
