She finally moved, pulling something from her pocket. A slip of paper, folded small. She stared at it for a long moment, then crushed it in her fist and shoved it back in her coat. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs she wouldn’t let become sound.
It shook me to the core. The sight made my chest tighten with actual physical pain. I wanted to go to her. To wrap her in my arms and demand she tell me everything, promise I’d fix it, swear that whatever was hurting her would stop hurting her because I’d destroy it utterly. But I didn’t move.
Because the problem was clear now—she was afraid of what I’d do with the truth. Afraid that my solution would be worse than the problem.
I watched her cry until she pulled herself together, wiping her face with shaking hands and straightening her spine with visible effort. Then she walked back toward the house, moving past my hiding spot without seeing me, her face blank again.
**********
That night, I couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore.
We’d eaten dinner in near-silence, Mila pushing food around her plate while I pretended not to notice. Anya had tried to fill the awkward gaps with chatter about her classes, but even she’d eventually given up, shooting worried glances between us.
Now Mila stood at our bedroom window, staring out at the snow that had started falling in thick, heavy flakes. She wore one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loose on her frame. Her hair was down, falling in dark waves over her shoulders, and she looked so young and lost that something in my chest cracked.
I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t watch her suffer in silence while I played the patient husband waiting for her to break.
“Who is contacting you?”
She went rigid, her reflection in the window showing eyes gone wide with shock. “What?”
“Don’t.” I kept my voice quiet, controlled, even though rage and fear warred inside me. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Her heart was visible in the pulse at her throat, stuttering and racing. When she turned to face me, she whispered, “No one.”
“The landline in the greenhouse. Two days ago. One-minute call from a burner phone.” I watched her face drain of color as her hands started to shake. “Want to try again?”
“I—” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “It was a wrong number.”
“Mila.” I moved toward her, slowly, like someone who was approaching a wounded animal. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I was close enough now to see the tears gathering in her eyes, the terror she was trying to hide. “And I need to know why. I need to know what you’re protecting, because if there’s a threat against you, against our family—”
“There’s no threat!” The words came out too loud, too desperate. “It’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”
“I can’t do that.” My hands clenched at my sides, fighting the urge to grab her, shake her, force the truth from her lips. “Someone found a way to reach you in our home. Someone knew about that phone line, knew when you’d be alone. That’s not nothing.”
She backed up until she hit the window; there was nowhere left to run. “Please. Just trust me.”
“Trust you?” The laugh that escaped me was bitter. “You’re asking me to trust you while you keep secrets that could get you killed?”
“No one’s going to kill me!”
“You don’t know that!” The control I’d been maintaining snapped. “You don’t know who’s playing what game, you don’t know what they want, and you’re too fucking stubborn to let me help you!”
“Because if I tell you, you’ll destroy everything!” The words ripped out of her, raw and desperate. “You’ll mobilize your entire organization, you’ll tear the city apart, people will die—”
“I don’t care!” I closed the distance between us, caging her against the window with my body. “I don’t care who dies as long as you’re safe. As long as our child is safe. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t tell you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, tears streaming down her face now. “You’re wired to destroy anything you consider a threat without thinking about the consequences, without considering that maybe some things can’t be fixed with violence.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “You’re just realizing that I’m a monster.”
“No.” She shook her head frantically. “No, that’s not—God, Alexei, I know what you are. I’ve always known. But this is different. This is…” She closed her eyes, more tears spilling over. “Please. Just let this go.”
“I can’t.” My forehead dropped to hers, our breath mingling in the small space between us. “I can’t lose you. I can’t let someone hurt you because I was too patient, too careful. Don’t you understand? You’re everything. You and this baby, you’re everything that matters, and I will burn the whole fucking world to ash before I let anything take you from me.”
