Mama moves toward me. “Katyusha, please take a deep breath. Please. You’re shaking.”
My gaze drops. My hands are trembling at my sides, but the rest of me feels strangely still. Too still. Like the part that should be crying has gone somewhere quiet and locked the door.
Papa watches me carefully. “What are your plans now?”
Mama whips toward him. “Sergei.”
But I understand why he asks.
In his world, grief has no space unless it affects movement. Territory. Marriage. Power. If Lev has stepped out of one arrangement and into another, Papa needs to know where I stand on the board.
I almost hate him.
I almost hate myself for understanding him.
My gaze drops to the table. The soup has gone untouched. The silver spoon beside it reflects the chandelier in warped little streaks of light.
Upstairs, my suitcase is still open.
My passport is still on the vanity.
Russia is still waiting.
I think of the way I had hidden my excitement from everyone. How I had imagined the cold air. The old streets. The churches with golden domes. The language around me. A country I had wanted to see before it became part of a marriage contract.
Lev took enough from me tonight.
Vika took enough.
I will not let them take that too.
I lift my head. “I’m going.”
Mama blinks. “Going where?”
“To Russia.”
2
KATERINA
Papa’s expression hardens instantly. “No.”The speed of his answer almost makes me smile.
“Yes.”
“Katerina, you cannot fly to Moscow alone because you’re angry.”
I shrug. “I’m not angry.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not the main emotion I’m feeling right now. I look between my parents. “I’m humiliated.”
Mama’s eyes fill with tears.
I hate that it hurts her, but I do not soften it.
“And I refuse to sit in this house tomorrow while everyone whispers about how gracefully I accepted being replaced.”
Papa’s voice lowers. “This is not about pride.”
“It’s exactly about pride.”
