I am not doing this, crying in his room.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Vasilisa
Running late, sorry! The baby is making Adriana a little sick. Give us twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes.
Good.
That means I don’t have much time to think.
I send back a lie before I can stop myself.
No worries. I’ll be here.
Then I shove the phone into my pocket.
I head down to the garage, grab one of Maksim’s car keys.
It would be easier if I hated him.
It would be easier if I doubted him.
Instead I just doubt the world around him. The men. The structure. The cost.
And myself.
I toss the bag in the passenger seat and begin to pull out of the garage and freeze.
Katya.
She’s just outside the opening in workout clothes, one hand wrapped around a water bottle, her brows drawing together the second she sees me behind the wheel.
For one stupid second, I consider hitting the gas anyway.
Instead I crack the window.
Katya steps closer. “Where are you going?”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I force my face into something blank, bored, harmless.
“I’m meeting Vasilisa and Adriana.”
Her eyes flick to the bag on the passenger seat. Then back to me.
“Where?”
I shrug like I haven’t spent the last ten minutes detonating my own life in my head. “Some restaurant.”
That gets me a frown.
Not suspicion exactly. Something quieter. Sharper.
Katya glances toward the house, then back at me. I can almost see the thought taking shape—whether to text Maksim, whether I’m lying, whether stopping me is worth the fight.
Then she steps back.
