Page 110 of Twisted Pact

“Dr. Orlov says your blood pressure is still too high. You need to take better care of yourself, Mila.”

I turn my head on the pillow to look at him. “I could say the same to you.”

He chuckles, then winces at the pain it causes. “Fair point.”

“Thank you,” he finally offers. “For convincing Alexei to come after me. I know what it cost.”

“Three men died because I pushed for that rescue.”

“Three men died because Maxim Novikov is a monster who thought he could use me as bait. Don’t take on guilt for his choices.”

I’ve heard variations of this from everyone. Alexei. Dr. Orlov. Even the guards who accompanied us to the warehouse. But hearing it from Papa somehow carries more weight.

“Their families lost someone they loved.”

“And my family didn’t lose me. Both things are true, Mila. You can acknowledge the cost without drowning in guilt over outcomes you couldn’t control.”

I close my eyes and try to absorb his words. Try to believe them instead of just hearing them.

“Your mother used to say something similar,” he continues. “After difficult operations that went wrong. She’d remind me that we can grieve losses without taking responsibility for every variable we couldn’t predict.”

The mention of Mama makes my chest clench. I haven’t spoken to her once since she left us months ago.

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she abandoned us. She walked out when we needed her most and never looked back.”

Papa adjusts himself in his chair again, and the movement makes him grunt with pain. “That’s not entirely accurate.”

“She left right after Irina’s pregnancy came out. Right when the family was falling apart. How is that not abandonment?”

“She left because the stress was killing her. She had panic attacks so severe that the doctors thought she was having heart attacks. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. The violence and constant threats broke something inside her that couldn’t be fixed.”

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I’ve never heard this version of events. Never knew Mama was that sick.

“She could have told me.”

“She tried. You refused to see her after the first week. Refused to take her calls or read her letters.”

The words sting because they’re true. When Mama first left, she reached out constantly. Called every day. Sent emails. Even tried to visit. And I turned her away every time because I was furious that she chose herself over her family.

“She gave up pretty quickly if she was so concerned about me.”

“She didn’t give up. She’s still trying. You’re the one who keeps blocking her attempts.”

I turn my head to look at him again, and a tear trickles down the side of my face, disappearing into my hair. “Why are you defending her? She left you, too.”

“I understand why she left. This world destroys people who aren’t built for it. Your mother tried for twenty-five years to be someone she wasn’t. To live with violence and fear as constants. Eventually, that effort consumed her.”

“So, she just gets a pass? She gets to walk away while the rest of us deal with the consequences?”

Papa reaches for my hand. “I’m not saying she gets a pass. I’m saying she made a choice to save her life. And being angry at her for choosing survival doesn’t help anyone. Least of all you.”

“I have every right to be angry.”

“You do. But holding onto that anger takes energy you need for other things right now. Like taking care of yourself and your baby.”