Yaromir’s gaze returns to mine. “You don’t have to thank me for mourning someone complicated.”
My throat tightens.
Because that’s exactly what Katya is.
Complicated.
At the cemetery, the air is cold and wet, with a thin mist clinging low to the ground. Yaromir insists on helping me out of the car, then keeps his arm around my waist as we walk slowly along thestone path. I know he’s supporting more of my weight than I want to admit.
For once, I let him.
Katya’s grave is new. The soil is still dark and unsettled, flowers gathered in careful arrangements around the marker. White roses. Lilies. A wreath from her family. Another from someone who didn’t sign their name.
I stop a few feet away. For a moment, I can’t move closer.
I see her at lunch by the pier, laughing with her phone hidden beneath the table. I see her in silver at the auction. I see her in my dream, standing by the river, trying to speak.
My hand moves to my stomach. Yaromir notices but says nothing.
“I hated her,” I say quietly.
His arm stays steady around me. “I know.”
“I still do a little.”
“That’s allowed.”
I look at the grave. “She betrayed me. She smiled at me on my wedding day. She let me walk into that house and believe…” I stop, swallowing hard. “She let me believe everyone was happy for me.”
Yaromir says nothing. The mist collects in his dark hair. There’s still bruising near his jaw. His scar looks more gruesome in the gray light.
“But she tried to stop him,” I say.
“Yes.”
Yaromir lowers his voice. “You don’t have to make her one thing.”
I look up at him.
“She was cruel to you,” he says. “And frightened. And selfish. And in the end, she tried to stop Dmitri. All of those can be true.”
My eyes sting. “I don’t know if I forgive her.”
“Then don’t lie to the dead.”
A small, broken laugh leaves me.
Only Yaromir would make that sound almost comforting.
I step forward slowly, leaving his arm only when I reach the grave. He watches every movement like he’s ready to catch me if my knees give.
I take the small bouquet we picked up on the way here. Pale pink tulips. Not white. White felt too clean. I set them beside the stone.
For a few seconds, I just stand there.
Then I whisper, “I wish you had told me.”
The wind moves softly through the cemetery.
