"Natalia," Dmitri says. His voice cuts through the quiet. "How are you doing?"
Everyone's eyes shift to her.
She looks up. Startled. Like she wasn't expecting to be addressed.
"I'm fine," she says automatically.
The lie is so obvious it hurts.
"Natalia," Dmitri says again. Softer this time.
Her fork clatters against her plate. She flinches at the sound.
"I said I'm fine." Her voice cracks. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because we care," Karolina says gently.
"Well, stop." Natalia's hands shake. "Stop caring. Stop looking at me like I'm going to break."
"You're grieving," Vladimir says. "We all are."
"It's not the same." Natalia's eyes fill with tears. "You all got to know him. You had years with him. I killed her. I killed our mother. And now he's gone too and I?—"
Her voice breaks completely.
Karolina reaches across the table. "Natalia, no. You didn't?—"
"Don't." Natalia stands abruptly. Her chair scrapes against the floor. "Don't tell me it wasn't my fault. Don't tell me she chose this. I know what I am."
She runs from the room.
The silence that follows is worse than before.
Karolina covers her face with her hands. Vladimir's jaw works. Aleksander finally looks up from his coffee, his eyes hollow.
Oleg stands. "I'll go?—"
"No," Dmitri says. "Let her be."
"She's hurting," Oleg argues.
"We're all hurting." Dmitri's voice is flat. "She needs space."
I watch him. His face is carefully blank. But his hand tightens on mine. Hard enough to hurt.
I don't pull away.
Karolina drops her hands. "She's getting worse. Not better."
"Give her time," Vladimir says.
The tension is suffocating.
I clear my throat. Everyone looks at me.
"I understand," I say quietly. "What she's feeling."
"My father died when I was thirteen," I continue. "Heart attack. Sudden. One day he was there. The next he wasn't."
