My mother was here.
My mother was real.
I bend my knees, starting to kneel, and I glance back instinctively. Maksim has already stepped away.
Not far.
He jerks his chin toward the motorcycle. “I’ll be overthere.”
I look at him.
He shrugs once. “Not going anywhere.”
He moves back toward the bike and leans against it, broad shoulders lit by the afternoon sun, arms folded, posture loose in a way I know is fake. Watching everything. Watching me.
Giving me privacy without ever leaving me alone.
My chest tightens all over again.
Then I turn back to the headstone and lower myself to the ground.
The grass is cool beneath my knees.
Up close, I can see faint weathering in the carved letters. A tiny chip near the base. A thin line of dirt caught in one curve of her name.
I reach out and brush my fingertips over the stone.
“Hi, Mama.”
My voice breaks on the first word.
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping quickly at my face with the heel of my hand even though no one is close enough to see.
“I didn’t think…” I whisper, then stop and try again. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to speak to you like this.”
The wind stirs softly through the cemetery.
Behind me, somewhere near the bike, I know he’s still there.
“I’m sorry it took so long.”
The words come out small. Useless. Not nearly enough for years of not knowing where she was, for all the birthdays and winters and bad nights I spent pretending I didn’t care because caring hurt worse.
“I wanted to see you,” I say, swallowing hard. “But Baba thought I was too young and then after he passed… I just wasn’t allowed.”
My throat tightens.
“The first time I asked…it was brutal so I never asked again.”
That one tastes rotten.
Because it’s true.
Because I learned early that silence was safer.Easier.That wanting things in Gabriel’s home was dangerous.
I brush a thumb over her name again.
“I hated Gabriel for not telling me at least where you were,” I whisper. “I still do.”
