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One of the responders calls out to him. Semiyon looks at the group running toward him, only feet away now, and then does a double-take.

His expression changes. He makes to haul himself over the hip-high iron fence, and the cigarette smoker pulls him back roughly instead. Two men take hold of Semiyon and start half-dragging, half-escorting him back toward their vehicles.

“Everything’s under control,” one calls calmly to the neighbor as Semiyon struggles. “We just want to get this man to the hospital as soon as possible. Not sure how long the paramedics will take, and there’s a chance of smoke inhalation.”

I miss the rest of the excuse as they hurry to take my father away. He’s bundled quickly into the back of one of the SUVs.

Beside me, Vasily watches impassively. I can’t get my pulse to slow down to something reasonable.

“Are they actually…?” I turn to him, reaching out unconsciously to grip his forearm. “Vasily, are they actually firefighters, or is this some kind of setup?”

He looks back at me with those dark eyes. “Both can be true,” he murmurs.

From afar, the sound of sirens echoes. More people are gathering to rubberneck at the now-billowing smoke coming from Semiyon’s condo.

“Where will they take him?”

When Vasily doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at me, I realize I don’t actually want to know.

I should feel satisfied. Instead, my eyes burn. And not with the smoke spreading down the street.

This is my father. My biological father.

And I’m watching his life collapse from the passenger seat of a car belonging to the man I’ve fallen hopelessly, stupidly in love with.

We pull away from the gathering crowd and stop farther down the road. For a while neither of us speaks. Then Vasily’s phone vibrates. He answers, listens, and ends the call.

“Is he dead?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I close my eyes. I knew what I was agreeing to. Knowing hasn’t stopped the grief, or the shame tangled into my relief.

“I have to make a phone call,” I breathe shakily. Vasily watches me like a hawk, but doesn’t try to stop me as I take out my cell and dial the familiar number.

She picks up four rings in.

“Matilda. I was starting to worry; we haven’t heard from you⁠—”

“Mom.”

The tone of my voice cuts her off. There’s a beat of silence before she asks, “Honey, is everything okay?”

I hear Ed asking the same in the background, and tell her straight: “It’s about Semiyon. My biological father. I just wanted you to know.”

When I look up, my eyes meet Vasily’s. He doesn’t stop me. And he doesn’t correct me when I say, “He’s gone. I…I happened to find out from a source. Just a coincidence.”

Mom sucks in a breath. The sound of a door closing tells me that she’s stepped away, gone somewhere more private.

“Matilda, are you sure?” Her voice breaks, but not with grief.

Vasily nods once.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

She lets out a shuddering sigh. All of a sudden, I want to be with her. I want to be home, with Mom and Ed and Emma, I want to be somewhere that feels safe and familiar.

You’re safe with him.