Everything. Nothing. The fact that this distance is destroying me. That watching her withdraw into polite composure is worse than her anger ever was.
“How are you feeling?” I ask instead. “With the pregnancy. Any symptoms I should know about?”
“The nausea is better. I’m tired but managing.” She returns her gaze to the window. “Dr. Kuzmin said everything is progressing normally.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Silence falls again. Heavy and suffocating.
I can’t do this anymore. “I can’t handle this,” I say abruptly.
She looks at me again, something flickering in her eyes. “Can’t handle what?”
“This. The distance. The silence.” I force myself to meet her gaze. “You’re polite, you’re present, you do everything that’s asked of you. You’re not here. Not really. I don’t know how to exist in this space between wanting you and being shut out.”
“I’m giving you what you asked for. Compliance. Cooperation.”
“I don’t want compliance.” The words come out rougher than intended. “I want—”
“What? What do you want from me, Aleksandr?”
“I want you to stop treating me like I’m dangerous,” I say instead.
“You are dangerous.”
“Not to you. Not anymore.” I lean forward slightly. “I know I’ve given you every reason to be guarded. I know trust has to be earned and I haven’t earned it yet. But this—” I gesture between us. “—this careful distance feels like punishment.”
“It’s not punishment. It’s protection.”
“From what?”
“From getting confused. From mistaking possession for care. From forgetting that this started with lies and force and manipulation.” Her hands clench in her lap. “You admitted you kept the truth about my family from me. That you chose possession over honesty. How am I supposed to…?” Her voice cracks. “How am I supposed to trust that anything between us is real when the foundation was built on lies?”
The rawness in her voice makes my chest ache.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I know I fucked up. I know the foundation is broken. But we’re here regardless. You’re carrying my child. We’re bound together whether the beginning was right or wrong. So what do we do? Keep existing in this limbo? Or try to build something real on top of the broken foundation?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Neither do I.” I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away. Take her hand in mine. “I can’t keep pretending distance is sustainable. I need…” I struggle for words. “I need you. Not as an obligation. Not as a wife fulfilling duties. As the only thing that steadies me.”
Her breath catches. “That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“You can’t ask that of me.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if I have that to give.”
“Then give me what you can, but stop shutting me out completely.”
We sit like that, hands clasped, while Viktor drives us farther from the city. The silence is different now. Still heavy, but less suffocating.
“I’m scared,” she admits finally. “Of this. Of us. Of not knowing if I’m choosing you or just surviving you.”
“I’m scared too.”
She looks at me sharply. “You don’t look scared.”
“I’ve told you before. I’m very good at hiding it[14].” I squeeze her hand. “I’m terrified. That I’ve broken something I can’t fix. That you’ll never trust me. That our child will grow up in a house where their mother is just going through the motions.”
