I push the thought away before it can fully form.
“Chicago,” I repeat quietly, testing how it sounds. Then I look at him. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Let’s head inside.” He’s already moving toward the cabin.
I stand there for a moment, keys dangling from my hand, Hannah still buckled in the backseat. Part of me wants to get back in the car, drive us home, pretend none of this is real.
But home isn’t safe anymore.
And as much as I don’t want to admit that we’re in danger, as betrayed and confused as I feel, Nikolai saved us tonight.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself.
“Come on, baby.” I open Hannah’s door and offer my hand. “Let’s get you inside. You need sleep.”
“I can’t wait to tell everybody at school about this!”
I manage a smile for her, though my heart sinks. Pre-school. Our routine. Everything we’ve built feels impossibly far away right now.
Nikolai unlocks the cabin door with a rusted key. It swings open with a creak that echoes through the trees.
The smell hits me first—old wood and mildew, dust thick in the air. Cobwebs stretch across the corners like lace curtains no one’s disturbed in years.
Hannah’s hand tightens in mine.
“It’s just for tonight,” Nikolai says, reading my hesitation. “Ten hours at most.”
Our footsteps echo as we enter. The living room holds a single leather couch, cracked and sagging, and a table buried under a thin layer of dust.
Nikolai clicks on a flashlight, pushing open a door to reveal a bedroom.
One bedroom.
“This can be for you and Hannah,” he says.
I peer inside. The sheets look old, the mattress ancient. But it’s a bed, and Hannah needs sleep more than she needs luxury right now. My baby girl hovers in the doorway, uncertain.
“Mommy, are there spiders here?”
Before I can respond, Nikolai moves into the room, sweeping away the cobwebs in the corner with efficient movements. He’s trying. That much is clear.
“It’s going to be okay, Hannah.” He emerges and crouches down to her eye level. His voice drops, gentler than I’ve heard it all night. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier.”
My breath catches.
This—him kneeling in front of our daughter, speaking softly, trying to make her feel safe—this is what I grieved for the most. What I thought Hannah would never have. And now it’s happening in the worst possible circumstances, in a dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere, after the most traumatic night of her young life.
The unfairness of it all threatens to choke me.
“Come on, sweetheart.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s get you settled.”
Hannah glances up at Nikolai—still wary, still uncertain—then runs to me, burying her face against my side.
I guide her into the bedroom, and she whispers against my ear, "Mommy, I’m scared. Why is this place so old?"
Nikolai’s shoulders tense. He heard.
“You’re safe here,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “I promise. No one’s going to hurt us.” I keep stroking until her breathing evens out, until exhaustion finally wins. “Get some sleep, baby. I’ll be right here, okay?”
