“Thanks, Mum.”
“Try not to fight anyone else before the next family lunch.”
“No promises.”
She swats my arm lightly. “Aish. Maybe bring your doctor next time?”
Gongju tilts her head, considering her offer, then looks at me as if to saywe’ll see.
I nod. I leave with the warmth of the kitchen still clinging to me, the quiet, imperfect kind of love that never says the words out loud.
Chapter 38
The Wrong Question
Rafe kissed me like he meant to ruin my ability to think straight forever, and then, apparently, went full primal rage before my plane even took off. One flight home, one cup of terrible coffee, and by the time I was unpacking, he was trending.Obelus punches bandmate mid-tour.
The texts started immediately. Mama and Tata asking if my face had been clear of the punching perimeter in a panic. Natalia, gleeful as always, wanting to know if I could grab some blood from the scene to sell to fans in her TikTok shop. I stared at my phone for a long time before replying,seek helpand throwing it face down on the couch.
Then came Dominik.Miss you. Zosia misses you too.I promised I would be at family dinner Friday. Normal, predictable, and safe. Except this week has been anything but safe. Rafe’s voice won't leave my head, the gravel in it, that tone he uses when he wants me to turn into a puddle for him. That kiss before I left still feels alive in my veins, an echo that refuses to fade no matter how many charts I fill out or how many patients I see.
Work is chaos: charting, calls, surgeries to schedule. But really, I've been pretending to be busier than I am. I answer when I can justify it, when it won't look like I'm waiting for his name to light up my phone. But I can't hide the way my stomach flips every time it does.
When I give in and pick up, the conversations always go too far, too fast. One minute we're talking about music or his mother’s tea, and the next I’m breathless, the room spinning. It's dangerous, and I'm trying to cut back on it, at least until Saturday. I'm trying to hold on to a little dignity, some sanity, something that still feels like control. He makes me feel too much, and every word he says breaks down another wall I've spent years building.
So I've made a plan. Just one more day, one more hurdle. See Dominik, hug Zosia, have dinner with my family. Drink Tata’s tea, let him kiss my head, pretend to be the stable one. Don't make a spectacle. Just survive family dinner, and everything will be fine. As I get ready, I tell myself that it's fine, over and over. But my reflection doesn't look convinced, and the pulse in my throat betrays me. If I say it enough times, maybe I'll believe it, too. Maybe no one will notice what's already happening underneath, the stir he left in my blood, the slow unraveling I can't seem to stop.
When I arrive it's the familiar faces, Piotr and Aga with baby Kacper, Tata and Mama at the table, and Natalia on the couch with her phone in hand. Mama is the first to greet me, her face softening as she takes my coat and insists I look pale, thinner than last time, clearly not eating properly. Tata kisses my head and presses a glass of tea into my hand before I have the chance to argue. Aga hugs me tightly, carrying the scent of baby lotion, and Piotr claps me on the shoulder with his usual energy.
“Your blood man’s been busy,” he says, grinning as he takes a seat. “Saw the video. Thought he was just a pretty boy with eyeliner, but apparently he’s got some bite. Summoned his real blood powers, huh?”
“Piotr,” Mama warns from the kitchen.
I roll my eyes. “He’s not myblood man. His name isRafe.”
“Easy little siostra,” Piotr says. “It actually made me like the guy more. Didn’t think he had it in him.”
Natalia doesn’t even look up from her phone. “That’stoxic masculinity, Piotr. The fact that Obelus can grind against Haima but still fight to your standards just proves he’s moreevolvedthan you.”
The words hit harder than I expected. I feel the sting of them, the sound of Haima’s name twisting through me. The memory of that night, the tension, the things Rafe still refuses to repeat about what was said. Whatever it was, it was about me. The reminder makes my stomach knot.
Piotr notices but only shrugs, oblivious to the silence that follows. “So, how was it then? The concert, the visit, the band?”
“It was… good,” I manage, forcing a small smile. “You’d like them, actually. Natalia, you’d have a chance with Bomos. You could take his soul and his money and he'd thank you for it.” I make a joke of it but Natalia takes it seriously.
“On it,” she says immediately, still typing without looking up.
Piotr groans. “God help us.”
Tata sighs, muttering something about decorum and musicians while passing the salad. I take a sip of my tea, feeling the warmth spread through me, grateful for the noise, for the ordinary chaos that fills the room.
Then the door opens. Dominik’s voice filters in, followed by Zosia’s shriek of excitement. She runs toward me like it’s Christmas morning, her tiny arms wrapping around me. I scoop her up and she plants a loud kiss on my cheek before giggling against my neck.
Dominik follows a few steps behind, his expression cautious but relieved, like a man dying of thirst and finding a glass of water waiting. We lean in for the traditional cheek kisses, and the scent of his skin pulls me straight back to a night I’ve been trying to forget. The warmthof him against me, my own voice whisperingharder. The memory flashes hot and vivid before I can stop it. I fight it down, force my hands to stay still, my breathing even, but he sees it. I can tell by the way his eyes narrow for a second before he smiles, knowing. I smile back, pretending at composure. Pretending everything is exactly as it should be.
Dinner is loud in the way only Polish family dinners can be. Zosia sits between Aga and Piotr, swinging her legs while she narrates her coloring book to anyone who will listen. Kacper gurgles, happy in his bouncer beside Mama. Tata complains about taxes, Mama scolds him for bringing up politics at the table, and Natalia records bits of it on her phone, probably to turn into content later.
Dominik slips into the seat beside me. The brush of his leg against mine is unintentional at first, or it seems that way. Then it happens again. The heat of it, the insistence, makes me flush. It shouldn’t, not after everything. But my body doesn’t listen. I keep my posture still, careful not to draw attention, not to pull away too forcefully.
