"Monika." He walked toward me. His movements were slow, deliberate, the way a predator moves when it's cornering its prey. "Look at me."
I looked at him.
"Who was it?"
The name was lodged in my throat, a stone I couldn't swallow. I thought about the consequences—what would happen to Nathan, to me, to all of us. I thought about the way Gabriel would look when he found out. I thought about the cracks spreading through this family, through this house, through me.
"Nathan," I whispered.
The word hung in the air between us. I watched Aleksander's face change—the flicker of something dark crossing his features, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
"I see," he said.
He turned away. Walked to the window. Stood with his back to me, his shoulders rigid, his head bowed.
"Did he force you?" he asked. "Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Did you want it?"
I opened my mouth to say no. To say yes. To say something that would make this easier.
But I couldn't lie to him.
"I don't know," I said.
He was quiet for a long time. The fire crackled. The clock ticked. Somewhere in the house, someone laughed—a bright, carefree sound that felt obscene in the silence of the study.
"Go to your room," he said. "I'll handle Nathan."
"No." The word came out before I could stop it. "I don't want you to handle him."
"Monika—"
"I don't want you to fight him. I don't want you to punish him. I don't want any of this to be about him." I stepped closer, my hand reaching out, touching his arm. He flinched—a small, involuntary movement—but he didn't pull away. "I chose to be with him. Just like I chose to be with you."
"Did you?"
The question hit me like a slap. I stared at him, my mouth open, and I realized that he knew. He'd known all along.
"You signed the papers," he said. "You took my name. You came to my bed. And then you went to my son's."
"I didn't—"
"You didn't what? You didn't mean for it to happen? You didn't think I'd find out?" He turned to face me, and the anger I'd been expecting was there—finally, unmistakably, blazing in his grey eyes. "I can see the marks on your body, Monika. The bruises. The bites. I've marked you myself, and I know my work. Those marks aren't mine."
I looked down at myself. The collar of my dress was low, and there were bruises on my collarbone—fingermarks, dark and unmistakable. I'd been so careful to hide them, but I'd missed one.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Aleksander, I'm sorry."
"Sorry." He laughed—a broken sound, nothing like his usual laugh. "You're sorry. That's what you have to say to me?"
"I didn't know what to do. You were gone, and he was there, and I—" I stopped. There were no words for this. No explanation that would make it right.
"You wanted him," Aleksander said. "That's what happened. You wanted him, and you didn't want to wait for me."
"No. Yes. I don't know." I pressed my hands to my face, trying to hold myself together. "I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know who I am. I'm just—I'm trying to survive, Aleksander. That's all I've ever been trying to do."
