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Papa clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “We could’ve set a meeting, or had a call, or—”
“I went through your email.”
He looks confused. “You did what? I’m sorry—”
“I saw the messages between you and Liliya.”
I let that linger. He squirms slightly, leaning forward. Confusion dances in his expression, but I can almost taste his anxiety. This is an act, all an act.
He knows I know.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I don’t—”
“How fast was it?” I ask him, head cocked. “Did you mean for her to die? Or were you just trying to shut her up for a little while? Just buying time?”
He sits back in his chair. “I have no clue what you mean.”
“Liliya was going to leave Rustik. If she did that, he would’ve called on your debt, isn’t that right? That’s why she was married to him. Then on top of everything, she comes to you with documents proving that Rustik was stealing from his farmer partners. That’s when you came up with the plan, isn’t it?”
His face hardens. There’s still steel in my old man. Papa read me The Art of War when I was a little girl, after all.
“I don’t know where you’re getting this fantasy from.”
“It must’ve seemed like a gift. Bury the documents for Rustik. Curry more favor. Squirm your way out from under his thumb. Except I don’t understand why Liliya had to die. You could’ve let her go.”
Papa’s jaw works. “I had nothing to do with her death.”
“You were there. I saw the messages. You went to that house to collect those documents, or at least that’s why she invited you. But then you did something. Did she know she was taking the pills? Did you force her to swallow them?”
“Alisa,” he says, tone strained. “Stop this now.”
I look back at Liam. He only nods at me, face a passive mask, and I take strength from that.
“It was an accident. That’s my guess. You’ve fallen so far, Papa, but I don’t think you’d kill Liliya on purpose. I think you gave her too much, many too many sleeping pills, and you panicked. You carried her into the bathroom. Put her in the tub. Did you take off her clothes? Or maybe she got herself there on her own after you left. Did you think she was already dead? Were you surprised when you learned she’d survived for a little while longer?”
“Please,” he whispers, eyes shut. “Please stop.”
“Tell the truth, Papa. I already know it was you. Rustik wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t kill Liliya. I didn’t want to believe him, but it’s all there, it’s all so obvious. Tell the truth for once in your life, damn it, please, tell the truth for your poor dead daughter’s sake, just tell me—”
“She wasn’t supposed to die,” he says, voice choked with rage and sorrow. His face is red and veins pop out in his neck. “I gave her the pills to help calm her down. I gave her too many and she fell asleep. I didn’t think she was dead, but I left the bottle, and she must’ve woken up at some point. She must’ve taken more.” He leans forward, his face in his hands. “I don’t think she would’ve done it if the pills weren’t there already. I thought I was helping. I wanted… I wanted to fix things. I gave her the pills, but she’s the one that decided to finish off the bottle after I was gone. She must’ve gotten in the tub, swallowed the whole thing—”
I can’t hear anymore. I take a step back, heart racing. “You’re lying.”
“I’m sorry,” Papa says, crying. I’ve never seen him cry in my life. Not even at Liliya’s funeral. “I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve made her marry that man. I never should’ve asked you to do it too. I’m sorry.”
I back away, shaking my head. This can’t be real. It can’t be. But it makes more sense. Papa could’ve have forced the pills down her throat, and he would’ve staged her in the tub if he had.
Liliya took them herself.
“It’s still your fault,” I say as a cold wave washes through me.
“No,” he says, looking miserable.
“If you hadn’t made her marry that man—if you hadn’t given her the pills—if you had just tried to help her when she begged you for help—she wouldn’t have killed herself. She’d still be with us. You forced her to take the most extreme step.”
“No,” Papa shouts, getting to his feet. “No, you’re wrong, I didn’t—”
Then Liam’s in front of me. A cold, horrible statue, standing in front of Papa radiating pure loathing and madness. His voice comes out smooth. “Sit down,” he says.
Papa drops back into his chair, chastened, all his rage diminished.
I cry quietly into my hands. This isn’t how I thought it would happen. I thought we’d confront Papa, he’d admit to the crime, and I’d get my revenge.
