When I’d call his name, he would sometimes react and other times ignore me. But that’s kids, right? Or that’s what I told myself.
The pediatrician still was unsure it was autism, but then specialists came. Different opinions, different tests…
Then the genetic test, the whole exosome sequencing, was the one that gave me an answer. And the answer didn’t change who my son was, but it changed how I would handle it.
A mutation, they said. Something neither his mother nor I passed down. Something that happened only in him, rare enough that they told us to wait and see how he progresses. But they might as well have handed me a bomb and told me to put it under my pillow.
There were many sleepless nights, because an answer without a clear future is just another kind of uncertainty. Every time I tried to read about it, there was never enough information. I hated it. I can’t help him without answers or some fucking guidance. And if I can’t help, I’m useless.
His mother changed once we got the diagnosis. It was subtle at first. Less patience instead of more. Shorter tolerance. A tightness in her face when he groaned and screamed. Like she couldn’t be bothered now that there was something wrong.
There is nothing wrong with Lev. My son isn’t broken. He isn’t a tragedy. He is my child, and his mind works the way it works. The world can either learn to meet him where he is or I will force it to.
She didn’t see it like that. She looked at him like he’d ruined the life she wanted, like he was a burden she didn’t sign up for, and I watched the gap widen between them until it was a canyon. Every time she pulled away, I stepped closer—not because I’m noble, but because he needed me.
God help her if she ever shows her face.
The thought sits hot in my chest. Aleksei is right. I should’ve killed her.
I glance at the monitor one last time, eyes tracing the shape of his face, remembering the way he clung to Sloane like she was the only safe thing in the world.
Maybe I should ask her to be his nanny. I can behave, keep my hands to myself, if that’s what it takes to give him someone like her. Someone who sees him.
With a sigh, I set the monitor down on the nightstand and gape at the ceiling again like it might offer answers if I just look long enough.
Instead, my mind drifts somewhere I don’t like going. Back to when I was a kid. Back to the hell that passed for a childhood with a man who should’ve protected us.
The great Sergey Marinov. He wasn’t a father. He was nothing more than a tyrant. A cruel bastard who got off on breaking us, knowing we wouldn’t fight back.
When Lev’s mother told me she was pregnant, I didn’t want the baby. I hate myself for even thinking that, but I was scared out of my damn mind. Afraid I’d turn out like him. Afraid that whatever poison lived in his blood might live in mine too.
His death was the best thing that ever happened to us, but by then, it was too late. We were already men.
I shut my eyes and try to sleep, but when it comes, so does the nightmare. The same one every time. My father waiting in the dark, still finding ways to get inside.
The room is pitch black, like I’ve been dropped straight into hell. Not a single trace of light. At first, it’s silent, and then it starts low, almost like it isn’t even there until the sound is hard to miss.
A baby is crying somewhere in the distance. Not a soft whimper, but the raw, piercing kind that bleeds panic and fear. My body reacts before my mind can catch up: feet moving, muscles tightening, instinct taking over.
The crying is somewhere ahead, close enough to chase. I surge forward, arms outstretched like I can reach him, scoop him up, and get him the hell out of here. But the second I pick a direction, the sound swings, slipping away like it’s being dragged by invisible hands.
“Pizdets,” I growl, pushing harder.Damn it.
The darkness thickens as I move through it, hands searching for walls that aren’t there. Just endless space unfolding around me, empty and cold.
The crying stays out of reach, no matter how fast I run. The room shifts every time I get close, stretching the distance on purpose. I run anyway. Breath tearing through me, anger rising fast, feeding the need to move.
There has to be an end to this place. A wall. A door. Something real I can fight through.
The baby cries again, the sound uneven now and full of terror.
“Gde ti?” I shout, voice cracking through the void.Where are you?
No answer. Just a low, cruel laugh sliding through the dark like fog I can’t see.
A chill rips through me. I know that sound. I’ve heard it too many times.
This has to be one of his games. Another twisted brand of torment. It would be just like him to watch me claw and bleed just to prove I’m weak.
