Kostya thought he had leverage over her. He thought he could use her. He was wrong.
“Do you don’t want to keep it?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Why would I?”
“I truly don’t know,” I answer, laughing. “I just thought I’d ask.”
“I don’t need reminders,” she replies. “I lived through it.”
She says it simply, like she’s already moved on. Maybe she has. It’s been a month since the engagement imploded, and she hadto face the reality of what her life actually is. She’s handled it all pretty well, come to think of it.
She finally looks up at me fully, meeting my gaze without hesitation.
“You want to know what really stood out?” she asks.
I nod.
“That he said he’d rescue me,” she says. “As if I need saving.”
Her mouth twists, more annoyed than hurt.
“That part pissed me off,” she adds. “Everything else was just sentimental garbage and lies.”
I watch her pick up her pencil again and return to her sketch as if this conversation never happened.
“You’re not afraid of him,” I say.
It’s not a question.
She shakes her head without looking at me. “No,” she says firmly. “I’m not.”
“Why not?”
She considers this for a moment, shading in a corner of the drawing before answering.
“Because fear is what he wants,” she says. “And I refuse to give it to him.”
Her strength clearly comes from defiance, then. I like that about her. I lean back in my chair, studying her openly now.
“You know he is going to keep trying to get to you,” I say.
“I’m not worried about it.” She shrugs again.
I respect her for that, even if I think she’s being a little naïve. Of course she should be worried. Kostya is potentially a very dangerous man. At the very least, he’s connected to very dangerous men. I wish she wasn’t so callous about it all.
I reach for the letter, balling it up in my hand.
“What are you going to do with that?” she asks.
I glance at it briefly.
“Throw it away,” I say. “Or burn it. It’s not doing either of us any good.”
She nods once and returns to her drawing, apparently satisfied. As I stand and move toward the kitchen, I glance back at her one last time. She’s already lost herself in her work again, humming quietly under her breath, a woman planning a future.
I understand then, with uncomfortable clarity, that Kostya never stood a chance with her. If he hadn’t cheated on her, she probably still would have come to her senses eventually. She knows who she is and what she wants.
I stay where I am for a moment longer than necessary, watching her draw. The lines on the page grow more confident as she works, shading deepening, form emerging.
