"That I don't know if I can do this." The admission comes out quieter than I intended. "Be a mother. Raise a child in this world."
"You're stronger than you think." His breath is warm against my ear. "And you won't be doing it alone."
I turn in his arms, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "What if I'm terrible at it?"
"You won't be." His certainty is absolute, unshakable. "You're fierce and protective and loyal. You'll be an amazing mother."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But the fear is still there, coiled tightly in my chest.
Andrey kisses my forehead, then steps back. "Come on. Let's explore the town. We can search the room later."
We spend the afternoon wandering through the small downtown area like tourists. Andrey buys me ice cream from a shop with a striped awning, and we sit on a bench eating our cones while watching people pass by. The vanilla is sweet and cold, melting on my tongue, and for a few minutes, I let myself just enjoy it.
We stop in a gift shop filled with handmade crafts and local artwork. I pick up a small wooden carving of a bear, running my fingers over the smooth surface. Andrey watches me with a warm smile. My heart flutters at the sight. It's not often I get to see this side of him.
"You should get it," he says.
"Why?"
"Because you like it." He takes the carving from my hands and carries it to the counter, paying before I can protest.
Later, we have a late lunch at an outdoor cafe with checkered tablecloths and mismatched chairs. I order a sandwich that I barely taste, my thoughts scattered and unfocused. My hand keeps drifting to my stomach, and I catch Andrey watching the gesture with that same soft expression.
"Are you happy?" I ask suddenly. "About the baby?"
"Yes." No hesitation, no doubt. Just the simple truth.
"Even with everything going on?"
"Especially with everything going on." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "This baby is proof that we're building something, Mariya. Something that's ours. Something good."
I want to share his optimism, but all I can think about are my father's secrets and the constant danger that follows us everywhere. "What if we can't keep them safe?"
"We will." His grip tightens. "I'll burn the whole world down before I let anyone hurt you or our child."
The violence in his voice should scare me. Instead, it's comforting. Because I know he means it. Andrey would destroy anyone who threatened our family without a second thought.
Maybe that's what our child needs. Not a perfect world, but parents who will fight like hell to protect them.
That evening, we return to the bed and breakfast as the sun sets. The room is bathed in golden light, peaceful and quiet. But we're not here for romance tonight. We're here to search.
Andrey starts with the obvious places—drawers, closets, and behind picture frames. I check the bathroom, running my hands along the baseboards and testing for loose tiles. Nothing.
"There has to be something here," I mutter, frustration building. "Why else would my father leave a clue pointing to this place?"
"We'll find it." Andrey's voice is calm and steady. He's on his hands and knees now, checking under the bed.
I join him, lying flat on my stomach to peer into the shadows. That's when I notice it. A section of the floorboard that doesn't quite line up with the others.
"Andrey. Look."
He shifts closer, his shoulder pressing against mine as he examines the board. Then he pulls a knife from his boot and wedges it into the gap, prying carefully.
The board comes loose with a soft creak.
Inside the hollow space beneath is a single gold key.
42
