Page 12 of Scarlet Chains

If only you knew what I know now, Dad.

If only you knew what kind of man would destroy our family.

Mom bustles around the tiny kitchen, filling her kettle, pulling down mismatched mugs. Her movements are more careful than I remember, like she’s conserving energy.

“Sit, baby. Tell me what happened. Why didn’t you call before you came?”

I sink into the couch, and she settles across from me at the small table, wrapping her thin fingers around her mug like it’s an anchor.

Where do I even begin? How do I explain that I fell in love with a monster? That I’m carrying his child? That I ran away from the one person who made me feel alive because I can’t stomach the truth of what he is?

“In Budapest…” I start, testing the words. “I met someone.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Someone special?”

“I guess you could say that.” I try not to choke on the words. “His name is Osip.” Just saying his name makes my throat tight. “We… we got close really fast. Too fast, probably.”

“What’s he like?” Mom leans forward, maternal curiosity overriding her concern. “What does he do?”

He kills people.

He destroyed our family.

“He’s… complicated.” I stare into my tea, watching steam curl upward. “Successful. Powerful. A businessman.” The words barely scrape the surface of what he is.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell her what he did to Dad?

My stomach churns at the thought. I can’t. She’s already lost so much— our house, our security, her husband. How could I tell her that the man I fell in love with, the father of her grandchild, is the one who ended her husband’s life?

It would destroy her.

Completely.

“But something went wrong?” Mom prompts gently.

“Very wrong.” My voice cracks. “I found out some things about him. Things I can’t forgive. We had a huge fight, and I… I ran.”

You’re a coward, Ilona.

Maybe you should tell her the truth.

But the words stick in my throat.

“There’s something else, Mom.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

Her mug freezes halfway to her lips. “Pregnant,” she repeats softly.

“Osip is the father… obviously. But he doesn’t know. And he can’t know. Ever.” My voice rises slightly as I say it and I force myself to calm down.

Mom sets down her mug with shaking hands. Tears well in her eyes as she reaches across the table to take mine.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Her voice breaks on the words. “How far along?”

“Not far. Maybe six weeks.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want him to know?”