“I know,” I answer. “She stayed as long as she could. She asked me to tell you she loves you.”
That part is always true, even if it isn’t literal. Raina never leaves this child without that word on her tongue.
Nadia looks at her bear and squeezes it. “Will she come back?” she asks.
I feel my throat tighten. I force the answer out steadily.
“Yes,” I say. “She’ll always come back to you, my love. I’ll make sure of it.”
She studies my face. She’s too smart for her age. The world made her that way. After a moment, she nods.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll wait.”
She holds out her small hand. I give her my fingers. She curls hers around mine and pulls my hand to her chest.
“Can you stay?” she asks.
“I’ll stay,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She closes her eyes again. It takes time for her body to relax. Her breath comes in uneven bursts at first, then grows steady. I sit there for a long time, my hand in hers, my other hand resting on the blanket near her legs.
Anastasia watches in silence. She doesn’t fidget. She doesn’t look at her phone. She just sits, ready to move if Nadia calls for water or the bathroom or another bear. At one point, she quietly places a glass of water on the bedside table for me and another for herself. She doesn’t speak. I nod once.
After a while, Nadia drifts deeper into sleep. Her grip loosens a little, but she doesn’t let go fully. I shift my hand so I can move without waking her and stand slowly.
“I’m going to the chapel,” I say. “We’ll do Vera’s prayers. I’ll be back before she wakes.”
Anastasia nods. “I’ll stay right here,” she says. “I’ll call you if she stirs.”
“Use the direct line,” I tell her. “Not the house system. The one in the drawer.”
She nods again. She knows which one I mean. We set that phone years ago for emergencies that don’t touch the main grid.
We lay Vera to rest before the first light touches the river. Father Ilya stands at the head of the small chapel, white hair bright under the candles. My men line the walls in dark suits, heads bowed. Anastasia and two of the other women from the staff stand near the front, eyes red. They washed Vera, braided her hair, and dressed her in a blue dress.
The prayers roll through the air, and while I’m not a devout man, but I listen to every word. Vera gave her life for mine and for my child. I owe her more than money and a stone. I owe her a clean road out of this world.
Afterward, I walk behind the coffin as we carry her to the private plot. The ground is hard from the cold. The men move slowly and carefully. We lower her down with ropes. I take a handful of earth and drop it in. It hits the wood with a soft, hollow sound.
“You did your job,” I say under my breath. “I’ll do mine.”
When we walk back, the sky over the city has a faint, pale line. It isn’t dawn yet, but it’s heading there.
I don’t sleep. I can’t. I go straight back to Nadia.
She’s awake now, propped up against her pillows, hair tangled, eyes swollen from crying. Anastasia sits beside her, reading from one of the picture books. She’s doing the voices. It’s a small thing, but it matters. When they see me, Nadia’s face crumples for a second, then steadies. She’s trying to be brave.
I go to the bed and sit. She reaches for me right away. I pull her into my lap, blanket and all. She tucks her head under my chin. Her hands grip my shirt.
“Did you put Vera in the ground?” she asks in a small voice.
“Yes,” I say. I don’t lie about this. “We said good words over her. We thanked her for loving you. We put her where no one can hurt her again.”
“Will she wake up?” Nadia asks.
“No,” I answer. “When people die, they don’t wake up here. But we remember them. We talk about them. We tell stories. That way, they stay with us in a different way.”
She presses closer. I feel her body shake. She doesn’t sob. She just trembles.
