Not just for her. For food.
The kitchen is quiet when I enter. Late. Past midnight. But Oleg’s still here.
He stands near the stove, not doing anything. Just… present. Like he’s been waiting.
A tray’s already on the counter. Grilled chicken, jasmine rice, vegetables that somehow smell like comfort and discipline at the same time.
I don’t ask. I sit.
He places a folded napkin beside the plate. Pours water into the crystal glass I never use. Moves like habit, like ritual.
“You saw her,” I say.
It’s not a question.
He nods once. “Yes.”
I pick up the fork but don’t touch the food.
“She was shaken when she arrived,” he says after a moment. “Something had her rattled.”
“I know.”
“She smiled anyway. For the kids.”
Of course she did.
Oleg leans against the counter across from me. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp. Watching. Always.
“The twins lit up when they saw her,” he says quietly. “Lev pulled her straight into the kitchen to help with his science project. She didn’t even take her coat off.”
I glance at him. “And my mother?”
“Watched from the hallway. Didn’t speak.” His tone tightens. “Didn’t need to. She’s already circling.”
Figures.
“What about the children?” I ask.
Oleg hesitates—just for a second. Then he says, “They were happy, Konstantin.All three of them. I haven’t seen them like that in a long time.”
That sinks deep.
“Even Alya?”
“She handed Bella a book,” he says, voice low. “Told her she was in charge of bedtime.”
My jaw clenches.
He watches me for another moment. Then, more gently, “They miss having someone…” He stops.
“Irina never gave them that.”
Oleg’s eyes don’t move. But the air shifts—just enough to feel it.
“No,” he says. “But neither did Tatiana.”
That makes me look up.
