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“It is.” I hear fabric rustle on her end, then Kira’s small voice in the background asking for juice. Daria answers her away from the phone, muffled for a second, before coming back. “You should’ve seen her face after she finished. She kept searching the crowd until she found me.”
I close my eyes again. My hand stays where it is.
“Tell her I’m proud of her.”
“I will. And Polina?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever this is, don’t go through it alone. I’m here.”
The room goes eerily quiet around me. Too late, I think.
Instead I say, “Good night, Daria.”
“Good night.”
The call ends, and I set the phone beside me and sit there in the fading evening with my palm flat against my stomach and the truth locked behind my teeth.
