I fall into him, the weight of the day spilling out of me, and in that moment I know, despite everything, despite the grief that still claws at my heart, it’salways been him.
Chapter 78
Zona
“You’re quiet today,” I say, tipping the vodka bottle back slightly, listening to the slosh. “Which is honestly suspicious. You always had an opinion.About everything.”
The wind moves through the trees. Nothing answers. I sit cross-legged on the ground, scarf spread beneath me, the headstone cold at my back. The bottle between my knees is already uncapped.
I huff a small laugh. “Don’t pretend you’re being respectful now. If you were here, you’d already be scolding me for not bringing a thicker coat. Or taking your scarf and practically strangling me with it, grumbling the whole time about how I never learned to look after myself, then checking twice to make sure I was warm.”
I take a sip. It burns, distracts from the tears that come no matter how I try to stop them, so I stop fighting. I just let them fall.
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas without you,” I go on, like this is just another update I forgot to text. “No debates about who’s on cousin-wrangling duty once the vodka starts flowing. No overplanning. Or calling me three times to ask what to buy Aga, then calling again just to ask,‘But what would a good Polish woman actually want?’” I shake my head. “You never trusted your own instincts when it came to her. Even though they were usually right.”
I glance back, waiting for the comment that doesn’t come.
“See? Nothing,” I mutter. “Not even a jab or a‘Polish women take careful planning, doktorka’.Very out of character.”
The silence stretches. It isn’t peaceful, it’s shaped like him. Something that can never be replaced.
“It’s been almost a year, but the hole you left doesn’t shrink,” I whisper to the breeze. “I know people like to say it does. They mean well. But it doesn’t. Some days it feels wider, like the gap between us keeps growing even when I fight against it.”
I twist the cap back on, then off again, restless. “I’ve just gotten better at walking around it.”
My breath fogs as I exhale. I focus my eyes skyward, as if it has answers for me.
“I wanted to tell you some things,” I say. “Because apparently that’s what I do now. Talk to you like we’re being polite.”
I take another drink. “We’re thinking about buying a house. Not right this second, we’ll start looking in January, probably. Apparently that’s when the listings are better. Everyone waits until after the holidays.” A pause. “You’d hate that. You’d say timing the market is bullshit, to start looking when we want, trust the gut and then somehow still be right.”
I smile despite myself.
“I’m opening my own clinic. No more Conrad watching over my shoulder like I’m going to accidentally dismantle the entire practice. I’ll set my own hours. Take the cases I want. Have time to actually breathe.” I swallow. “Travel sometimes, go to a gig or two with acertain someone.”
I lean my head back against the stone, careful, like he might feel it if I’m too rough.
“He’s a good man, Piotr,” I say softly. “Rafe. He’s… steady in the ways that matter. Loves planning our future together. He loves me, too, somehow, without trying to turn me into something else. I know what his world looks like. No illusions this time, I’m ready for it. I want to see it up close. Spend more time together.” I close my eyes. “Build something that feels like home for both of us.”
For a moment, I let myself imagine Rafe’s arms wrapped around me at some future kitchen’s sink, pretending to wash dishes just to keep him pressed against me like that. A world that finally allows us peace.
I sit up, and turn towards the headstone, like suddenly the conversation is serious and I have to face Piotr, ready for his judgment. My eyes trace the darkened letters of his name carved into stone.
“Go on,” I add lightly. “This is where you tell me I’m being reckless and rushing things. Or I’ve turned into a hopeless romantic.”
I close my eyes, nothing. I crack one eye open. “Still nothing?Wow.Death has really mellowed you out.”
Footsteps crunch behind me.
“You’re forgetting something,” Natalia says gently.
I smile, already knowing. She comes into my line of sight and crouches beside me, scarf pulled up, eyes bright in that way she gets when she’s holding herself together. She takes the bottle from my hands, unscrews the cap, and takes a sip without ceremony.
“For courage,” she says, then tilts the bottle and pours a measure onto the ground at the base of the headstone. The vodka darkens the soil.
“Merry Christmas, Piotr,” she murmurs.
I reach into my bag and pull out the framed photos. Amelka grinning, her teeth coming in nicely, he’d be proud of that smile; Kacper holding a soccer ball in his tiny, chubby hands. He’s already in love with it like Piotr was. We lean them carefully against the stone.
