When he looks at me now, there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Something raw and unguarded that makes my breath catch.
I matter beyond what I’m carrying. Like the pregnancy just gave him permission to show what was already there.
I don’t know what to do with that.
***
A week after the appointment, I can’t sleep.
The exhaustion that plagued me earlier has given way to restless energy. I lie in bed—our bed—staring at the ceiling while Aleksandr works late in his office.
He’s been doing that more. Staying up after I go to sleep, giving me space while still being close enough to reach if needed.
It should feel like relief. Should feel like the distance I’ve been craving.
Instead, it just feels lonely.
At midnight, I give up on sleep. Wrap myself in a robe and pad quietly toward the kitchen for water. The house is silent except for the low murmur of Aleksandr’s voice from his office.
I shouldn’t listen. Should just get my water and return to bed.
Something in his tone stops me. Not the cold control I’m used to. Something heavier. Strained.
I move closer to the partially open door.
“…understand the full scope now,” he’s saying in Russian. I catch maybe half of it, enough to piece together context. “The Petrovs manipulated everything. The Lawrence family was never the threat I believed.”
My blood goes cold.
“Yes, I know I should have verified earlier.” His tone is sharp. Defensive. “The intelligence was convincing. They played me perfectly.”
Silence while the person on the other end responds.
“What’s done is done. The Petrovs are eliminated. The threat is neutralized.” A pause. “The Lawrence assets will be handled appropriately now that I know the truth.”
Now that he knows the truth.
My hands are shaking. I press them against the wall to steady myself.
He knew. Or he found out, and he never told me.
“No, she doesn’t know,” Aleksandr continues, answering a question I can’t hear. “She won’t. Telling her accomplishes nothing except giving her ammunition against me.”
The words land like physical blows.
He knew my family wasn’t guilty. Knew they were manipulated, coerced, used as pawns. He kept it from me. Let me believe my father was weak, that we deserved what happened, that this was all consequences of our own actions.
While knowing the truth the entire time.
Rage and humiliation flood through me so fast I can’t breathe.
I shove the door open without thinking.
Aleksandr looks up sharply, phone still pressed to his ear. “I’ll call you back.”
He ends the call. Sets the phone down carefully. Watches me with wary eyes like he’s calculating how much I heard.
“How long?” My voice is surprisingly steady. “How long have you known?”
