Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“She hasn’t…” he starts, his voice broken. “She hasn’t laughed since…” He’s so overcome with emotion, he can’t finish the sentence.
He steps closer slowly, like he’s afraid to startle her. Anya looks up at him, blinks once, and then she giggles again.
Molly smiles at her, then at him. “She did really well. She’s very smart.”
I swallow hard, a thick knot working its way down my throat.
I didn’t expect to see something like this tonight. I didn’t expect to feel my chest clench at the sight of her with that little girl.
But watching her with a child, seeing how gently she handles someone else’s pain, hits me like a punch in the face.
She glances up at me then, just briefly. Her eyes flicker away too quickly. I hate that. I hate the distance she keeps putting between us. I hate that she’s scared of the world I brought her into. I hate that she feels the need to hold herself back from me now.
But watching her with this little girl who hasn’t laughed in months, makes something shift inside of me all the same.
I knew she’d be a good mother, but seeing it in action is different. It hits harder. God help me, I want her back in my bed tonight. I want her tucked against me where she felt safe before she started pulling away. I want her looking at me the way she used to. With trust instead of caution.
She needs space and time, though. I dumped a lot on her. For once in my life, I’m trying to give someone what they need instead of taking what I want.
So instead, I clear my throat and say quietly, “She’s likes you.”
Molly blinks, cheeks flushing faintly. “She’s a sweet kid.”
Davýd’s expression breaks completely. He crouches beside Anya, touching her hand softly.
“I don’t know how you did that,” he tells Molly, voice shaking.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kids just need patience and a sense of security. Once they have that, they open up.”
There’s a beat of silence.
She doesn’t look at me when she says security. She doesn’t feel safe with me. Not anymore.
Molly helps Anya pack the cards away. Davýd thanks her again and again before taking his daughter home. When the door closes, it’s just the two of us standing in the living room. She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s cold. Or guarded.
“Goodnight,” she says softly.
She starts to turn toward the hallway, back to the guestroom. Away from me.
“Molly,” I say before I can stop myself.
She pauses. Looks back at me, just barely. “Yeah?”
I want to say a hundred things. I want her to know that she is safe with me, and I’d rather kill a million men than let her ever be afraid of me. Maybe that would only scare her more, though. Clearly, her problem is with what I do. It doesn’t matter that I’d burn the world down for her. If anything, that’s probably what’s created this distance between us.
All I manage is, “Thank you. For helping her.”
She just gives me a small nod, then slips down the hallway.
16
MOLLY
Working with Anya today was a welcome distraction from everything. She was the sweetest little girl, despite the challenge of not speaking. Even so, it didn’t stop us from having the best time together. It made me feel useful for the first time since I left teaching.
She found ways to communicate with me without ever uttering a single word. If she liked an activity we were doing, her face would light up and she’d get very excited. If she wasn’t particularly enthused, she would shut down and withdraw. It was easy enough to pick up on her cues and let her lead the interactions.
The best part was that for a few hours I could put aside my fears about my own baby. For a while, I could forget about who Samuil really is and what his choices could mean for our child. Then Davýd picked Anya up, and the thoughts started to flood back in.
After they leave, I go lie down in the guestroom, once again overwhelmed by my own fears. I fully intend to stay put and not come back out. I need to breathe. I need to think. Unfortunately, the quiet isn’t as peaceful as I’d hoped it would be. It feels heavy and suffocating and full of questions I don’t know how to answer.
I lie there for almost an hour, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to let my imagination spin out of control. The words pakhan and Bratva do terrible gymnastics in my mind if I’m left alone too long. And the more I think about it, the worse I feel. It’s a deep sense of dread and anxiety I just can’t breathe my way out of.
At some point, my stomach growls loud enough to make me jump, and then I can’t help but laugh at myself. I’m so keyed-up that even a sound as small as my stomach grumbling is getting to me. I try to think about what I’ve eaten today, and I know that my baby doesn’t care that I don’t particularly want to leave my room. My body and my baby need food.