"No. You don't." He crushed out his cigarette and leaned forward. "Silas, listen. I've known you for over a decade. Since you were still a cold-blooded bastard. I know you love her. But what you're doing? That's not love. That's possession. Control. You're fucking sick."
He shook his head.
"I told you to ease up. What'd you expect? Any normal person would try to run."
My fingers tightened around the glass. The fresh bandage on my hand seeped red.
"You think I want this? I can't stop. When I think about her leaving, when I think about her with someone else, I—"
I didn't finish. I couldn't stand the thought of having her again, only to lose her.
"You lose your mind," Pavel finished for me. He poured himself a drink. "But look at what you've done to her. You turned a living, breathing woman into that."
I closed my eyes. Anthea's hollow face floated up behind my lids. That empty look—I never wanted to see it again.
"If you really love her, let her go." Pavel's voice dropped. He stared straight at me. "You don't, and you'll both destroy each other."
"She said if I let her go, she'll run. She never wants to see me again." I opened my eyes and smiled bitterly.
"Maybe." He shrugged and sipped his drink. "But at least she'd be alive. You'd still have a chance. You don't let go, you've got nothing."
The alcohol churned through my blood, but my head stayed clear. I knew Pavel was right. But letting go—that was harder than dying.
"I don't know if I can."
"You can." Pavel stood and clapped my shoulder. "For her, you can do anything. Didn't you say that yourself?"
He left. I kept drinking. The whole bottle disappeared.
I got backto the manor before ten. After washing off the smell of whiskey and changing shirts, I headed for Olei's room.
I pushed the door open. Olei sat propped against his headboard, holding The Little Prince, reading each word carefully.
"...the little prince left his planet..." His voice was small but deliberate.
Warm lamplight softened his face. His amber eyes—just like Anthea's—stayed fixed on the page. I stood in the doorway, my throat tight. When had he learned to read chapter books by himself?
"Olei." I knocked.
He looked up, surprised. "Dad?"
"I'm here to read you a bedtime story." I walked in and sat on his bed, reaching for the book.
He didn't hand it over. He hesitated, gripping the spine.
"Dad, I know a lot of words now." He rushed to add, like he was afraid I'd be mad. "I can read bedtime stories myself. You're always busy. You don't have to anymore. Lots of kids in my class still need their parents to read, but I can finish a whole book on my own."
I looked at him. Something slammed into my chest.
He didn't need me to read to him anymore. Just like that day in the dining room when he wouldn't let me wipe his mouth. Said he was grown up now. I'd barely noticed what he actually needed. I hadn't even known when he learned to read, when he could make it through a whole book.
He'd been growing up without me noticing. Soon, he wouldn't need me to drive him to school either.
"Olei..." My voice came out rough. "That's good. You're growing up."
He puffed out his little chest, eyes bright. But the smile faded fast. He looked like a worried old man.
"Dad, Mom doesn't smile anymore." His voice filled with concern. "She stays in her room all the time. I drew her a picture, but she didn't smile when she looked at it."
