Page 56 of Porcelain Vows

“What am I supposed to do?” I whisper to her, the question hanging unanswered in the soft lamplight.

Outside the partially open door, I hear Aleksei’s footsteps pause, then continue down the hallway. Giving me space, but not forever. Soon, I’ll have to face him. Face the truth. Face myself.

For now, I hold our daughter close, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the scent of her skin, the perfect curve of her cheek. In these quiet moments with Polina, the path forward seems almost clear: protect her. Love her. Be worthy of her.

But when I close my eyes, I see my father’s face. My mother’s grief. And the man who caused both now calls me family.

How long can I live in this limbo between hatred and love? Between past and future? Between the family I lost and the one I’ve found?

Polina sighs in her sleep, her tiny hand splayed against my collarbone. For her sake, I need to find answers. For her sake, I need to discover the whole truth.

Not just what Aleksei did, but why.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Aleksei

I’ve given her space.

Time to heal.

Time to adjust to motherhood.

Time to overcome whatever the fuck is causing this wall between us.

My patience is running out.

A week since our daughter’s birth, and Stella has barely spoken ten words to me. She’s attentive with Polina— a natural mother despite her inexperience— but turns to stone whenever I enter the room. The warmth I once saw in her eyes has vanished, replaced by something I can’t decipher.

Not fear. Not exactly anger. Something much worse— indifference.

I stand outside her door in the Left Wing, listening for any sound of distress. It’s nearly nine in the evening, Polina’s feeding time. Stella keeps to a rigid schedule, refusing help from the nurses I’ve hired. Insisting on doing everything herself until exhaustion has hollowed her cheeks and darkened the skin beneath her eyes.

I knock softly, not wanting to wake Polina if she’s finally sleeping.

“Yes?” Stella’s voice comes muffled through the wood.

I open the door to find her sitting in the armchair by the window, hair piled messily on top of her head, wearinga maternity shirt that hangs loose on her frame. Dark circles shadow her eyes. She looks beautiful and fragile and utterly exhausted.

“Where’s Polina?” I ask, noticing the empty bassinet.

“Asleep. At last.” She gestures vaguely toward the nursery door. “What do you want?”

The bluntness of the question stings, though I keep my expression neutral. “You need rest.”

She laughs without humor. “Tell that to your daughter.”

“I’ve arranged someone for the night,” I say, moving further into the room. “A night nurse. Experienced with newborns. You can pump some milk, and she can handle the feedings.”

Stella stiffens immediately. “I don’t want a stranger with Polina.”

“She’s not a stranger to me. She worked for a family I trust.” I don’t mention that this “family” is that of a high-ranking government official who has been on my payroll for years. “You need sleep, Stella. Uninterrupted sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” I move closer, stopping when I see her tense. “You’ve lost weight. You barely eat. You don’t sleep except when Polina does.” I soften my tone. “Let someone help. Just for tonight.”

She looks toward the nursery, maternal instinct warring with obvious exhaustion. “What if she gets hungry?”