Page 34

I wake up on the eighth morning, expecting today to be different, but it isn’t. My body still hurts with every breath I take, though of course, the pain now is duller and more manageable.

I know why, though. Agafon has been carefully watching over me. He brings the doctor over every single day and insists that I be given regular painkillers. I let him do his thing because when I say I can manage, I see guilt cross over his face, and I hate seeing him like that.

My anger toward him has subsided. We haven’t yet spoken of what happened the day I ran away, but the way he carefully arranges my medicines every day, the way he brings me every meal, the way he checks to see if I’m running a fever and helps me into the bath and changes my dressings tells me one thing: he cares for me, even if he can’t admit it.

The irony isn't lost on me—weeks ago, I was the one nursing him back to health. Now the roles are reversed, and he’s playing nurse to his injured wife.

I wonder when this will end and hope we don’t make a habit of it or something.

I hear a knock on the door and call him in, knowing it’s him.

“You need to drink more water,” he says as he refills my glass. “The doctor said hydration is important for healing.”

I take the glass, our fingers brushing. He pulls away quickly, as if burned. I try to catch his gaze, but he looks away, as if afraid of the disappointment he’ll see reflected back, and that’s the part I hate most.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice still raspy.

“Your bruises look better,” he notes, and I look down my collarbone. They’ve faded from angry purple to a sickly yellow-green.

“Progress, I suppose,” I try to crack a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. He grimaces. I can tell he blames himself for what happened to me.

Agafon busies himself adjusting my pillows.

“You don't have to do that,” I tell him, watching as he proceeds to check the bandage on my arm. “The nurse will be coming soon.”

His jaw tightens. “I know, but she’s a little rough sometimes.”

“You noticed?” I ask in surprise. He nods and begins to change my bandages with featherlight care. Every time his gaze falls on any of my injuries, his face tightens with rage. Except, I know it’s not toward Viktor Sokolov.

He brings me books I mentioned liking months ago, food prepared exactly how I prefer, and extra blankets before I even realize I'm cold. Each gesture feels like an apology that he can't bring himself to voice.

At night, when he thinks I'm asleep, he sits in the chair beside my bed, watching over me. Sometimes I peek through barely opened eyes to find him staring out the window, lost in thought. But he never stays until morning. He never crosses that invisible line to lie beside me as we did before.

The days pass by like this—Agafon hovering, providing, protecting, but always maintaining that careful distance.

**

One afternoon, I hear an unfamiliar knock on my door.

“Come in,” I call, expecting one of the staff.

Instead, Nikandr slips through the doorway, and I freeze. I haven’t seen him in… ages. Since college, actually, when he traumatized the hell out of me. And now, he stands before me—the same Nikandr who told Agafon I was some heartless bitch who'd wronged him.

“Lilibeth,” he says, hovering near the door with uncertainty. “Can we talk? If you're feeling up to it.”

I furrow my brows, and when I see he looks sober, looks clean, looks healthy, curiosity overcomes me. I’m still angry at him for all the lies he fed Agafon, but perhaps speaking to Nikandr can finally help us all get the fresh start we deserve.

I adjust myself against the pillows, wincing slightly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He walks in and closes the door gently behind him. He stands around awkwardly until I motion at a chair. “Sit, please,” I insist.

He looks pain-stricken, guilty. He looks like he’s not worthy of me offering him a chair. What is it with the Letvin brothers eating themselves up with guilt?

He sits stiffly, hands clasped between his knees. Up close, I can see the changes in him more clearly—the clarity in his eyes that wasn't there before, the steadiness in his hands, the grooming of his hair.

“I heard what happened between Agafon and you,” he begins.

“About what you heard that day when we were speaking in the living room.

Agafon hasn't left this house in days. I've never seen him like this, not even when...” He trails off, then meets my eyes directly.

“Not even after our parents died. But that's not why I came.”

The silence stretches between us, and I nod at him to carry on.

“I came to apologize,” he finally says. “For college. For everything after. For the lies.”

I can’t bring myself to speak just yet, needing to hear all he has to say and to know if I can truly forgive him.

Nikandr clenches his jaw as he looks up at me with deep sorrow.

“I told Agafon you were cruel to me. That you'd led me on, made me think we had something real, then dumped me when I was at my lowest.” He looks up, shame evident in his expression.

“I made you the villain because I couldn't face being one myself.”

The admission hits me with unexpected force. After I overheard what I did, I wondered why Agafon had chosen me specifically for his revenge marriage. Now, I know. Because of what Nikandr told him.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying I was a fool and my lies almost cost my brother and you the happiness you so deserve. I wasn’t a good person back then, Lilibeth. I’m clean now.”

“You are?” I ask, with surprise.

“I am,” he says, looking proud for the first time today. “One year, actually.”

“Wow,” I say, and can’t help but break out into a smile. “That’s good…Nikandr.”

The fact is, everything that happened between Nikandr and me happened ages ago. Over the years, I sometimes thought of him as I did of a friend and often prayed he found his way. To see him heal now, it does bring me joy.

“Lilibeth, I need you to know that Agafon loves you,” he says simply.

“And he's torturing himself over what happened to you, over his part in it all. And because...” He swallows hard.

“Because I fed this anger toward you when it was unjustified.

I'm trying to make amends for the person I was. And I was horrible to you, Lilibeth.”

I remember those days—the volatile mood swings, the cruel words, the public scenes he caused. The broken promises and the times I'd find him high out of his mind with other women.

“You were an addict,” I say quietly.

“Yes. But that doesn't excuse how I treated you.” His hands twist together.

“I called you names because of your size. I made you feel worthless. I cheated on you repeatedly. I borrowed money that I never repaid. I tried to get you to use. And then, when Agafon asked why I was in that situation, I was too ashamed to admit the truth. So I lied and made you the villain.”

There's something powerful in hearing him acknowledge it all—every painful memory I'd tucked away, every hurt I'd tried to forget.

“Part of recovery is making amends where possible.” His smile is sad, self-deprecating. “Though I understand if you tell me to go to hell.”

I study him for a long moment. The boy who broke my heart is gone, replaced by a man trying to piece himself back together. I recognize the effort it takes.

“Most men can't face their demons,” I tell him. “They blame everyone else for their mistakes. The fact that you're here, saying these things... I'm proud of you, Nikandr.”

He blinks rapidly, clearly not expecting forgiveness. “I don't deserve that.”

“It's not about deserving,” I say. “It's about growth. You're not the same person who hurt me.”

Relief washes over his features. “Thank you,” he whispers.

We sit in a more comfortable silence now with the past acknowledged.

“He really does love you,” Nikandr says eventually. “Agafon. Everyone can see it. He's different with you.”

“I know,” I admit softly, the words barely audible.

“Then forgive him,” Nikandr urges. “He married you for the wrong reasons, yes. But what started as revenge became something real.” He stands, moving toward the door. “Don't punish him for loving his family. You of all people should understand that.”

“I do,” I nod. The door closes behind him, and what I didn’t say is that Agafon hasn’t yet asked for my forgiveness. But when he does, he’ll find me willing to listen.

***

Hours later, Agafon enters with my evening medication, and the first thing he does is check if I’ve eaten.

“I did,” I nod, and he proceeds to pass me the pills with a glass of water. When I’m done, he turns to leave, but I decide that today, I’m ready for that conversation.

“Nikandr came to see me,” I tell him.

Agafon stills, his back still to me. “Did he upset you?”

“No. He apologized. Told me the truth about college.” I pause. “About the lies he told you.”

Agafon turns slowly, his face carefully blank. “I should have verified his story before—”

“Before marrying me for revenge?” I finish for him.

He flinches and drops his head. “Yes.”

I pat the edge of the bed. “Come sit with me.”

He looks up in surprise and then hesitates. I wave him over in encouragement, and finally, he moves over and perches on the very edge as though he’s afraid of hurting me with his mere presence. Up close, I can see the shadows under his eyes and the fatigue etched across his face.

“Why don't you sleep beside me anymore?” I ask directly.

The question clearly catches him off guard. His gaze flicks to mine, then away.

“You're injured,” he says stiffly.