“My mother was…” Her lips part on the words and don’t seem to know how to finish.
I do it for her because she’s already there.
“The other woman.”
A breath leaves her. Sharp. Small.
Like I drove it out of her.
She stares past me for a second, not seeing the field, not seeing anything. Then she gives a short, broken laugh that has nothing fucking funny in it.
“All this time,” she whispers. “All this time I thought she was protecting me because Baba was important. Because he was dangerous.” Her eyes cut back to mine, wide and burning now. “She was protecting me because we were a secret.”
“Yes.”
She looks away from me so fast it’s almost a flinch.
The dandelion in her hand trembles.
“And his wife, Gabriel’s mother… she—”
I already know she knows. Some part of her has put it together. But she makes me say it anyway because there’s a difference between fearing a thing and hearing it spoken out loud.
I don’t soften it.
“Killed your mother.”
Ayla freezes.
Actually freezes.
Then she shakes her head once, quick and disbelieving.
“No.”
I say nothing.
Her laugh comes out thin. Cracked.
“No. No, she—she was…” She drags a hand through her hair, eyes unfocused now, thoughts colliding too fast for her to catch. “She was dead, she died. I know she died.”
Her voice drops on the last word.
I hold her gaze and let her get there on her own.
“Maksim,” she says so soft I think she may actually crack. “How did she die?”
I exhale through my nose. “Your father. In retaliation.”
Her throat bobs. She stares at me.
Then looks down at the dandelion in her hand like she can’t understand how she’s still holding it.
“No wonder he hates me,” she says. Her voice is flat now. Worn out. “No wonder Gabriel hates me.”
I lean closer, my hand coming up to cup the side of her neck.
“He’ll die for it.”
