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She folds her hands in front of her. “The Volkovs can be difficult people, but they remember what is owed. Nikolai’s grandfather paid for my brother’s surgery. He made sure my mother had a place to live after my father died. When I was old enough, I came to work here properly.”

“That’s a long history.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still here.”

Then she looks toward Anya’s room again, and the smile fades before it reaches my mouth. “Mr. Nikolai was a serious child,” she says. “Too serious. His father expected too much, and then when his father died, everyone expected even more. People like to say children are resilient when what they mean is that adults have no choice but to continue.”

I think of Nikolai asleep beside Anya, his shirt wrinkled, one arm bent awkwardly under his head because he didn’t want to wake her. It is hard to imagine him as a child, but not hard to imagine him being expected to behave like an adult too early.

“He told me his marriage was arranged,” I say.

Galina’s face becomes more careful. “Yes.”

“He didn’t say much else.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t like speaking badly of the dead.”

That makes me quiet.

Galina looks at me for a moment, then seems to decide something. “Sofia was not a bad woman,” she says.

“I didn’t think she was.”

“No. But people can be put into situations they are not prepared for. Her parents wanted that marriage very much. Too much, perhaps.”

“What does that mean?”

Galina sighs softly. “There were problems in her family. Financial problems. Other things too. I don’t know all of it, and I am not saying Nikolai was tricked like a fool. He is not a fool. But I think her parents made the match sound simpler than it was.”

I sit with that.

Nikolai had told me the marriage was arranged. He told me both families wanted it. He told me it made sense at the time.

He hadn’t told me there were things hidden under that.

Maybe he didn’t want to blame Sofia. Maybe he didn’t want to sound like he was making excuses for himself. Maybe, after everything that happened, the details felt cruel to say out loud.

“He stayed anyway,” I say.

Galina looks at me. “Yes.”

“Because he’d agreed.”

“Because he had agreed,” she says. “And because Anya came soon after.”

I look down at my hands.

That sounds like Nikolai. Not romantic. Not simple. Just him doing what he believed he had to do and then blaming himself when duty didn’t turn into happiness.

“He didn’t tell me that part,” I say.

“No.”