Page 118 of Twisted Pact

“You were twenty-three years old and furious with Irina for destroying the Kozlov alliance. You were convinced our family’s problems were her fault. How was I supposed to tell you I was falling apart when you were already dealing with so much?”

“By being honest and trusting me to understand instead of protecting me from uncomfortable truths.”

“You’re right, I should have been honest and given you credit for being strong enough to handle my weakness. But I was drowning, and you were already underwater trying to save everyone else. I couldn’t add my weight to that burden.”

I stop pacing and lean against the wall. “So, you left me to figure everything out alone.”

“I left you to survive without watching me deteriorate. Without having to take care of me on top of everything else falling apart. Was that selfish? Absolutely. But it was the only choice I could see at the time.”

We fall into an uncomfortable quiet. I can hear her breathing and sense the desperation in her waiting for my response.

“I need you to understand something,” I finally tell her. “I’m not asking for your approval of my choices. I’m not seeking validation or permission. I called because Papa suggested I should at least hear your explanation before cutting you out of my life for good.”

“And now that you’ve heard it?”

“Now, I need time to process whether your explanation changes anything. Whether understanding your reasons makes the abandonment hurt less.”

“That’s more than fair.” She draws a shaky breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Do you love him? Alexei. Do you love him, or are you staying because the pregnancy makes leaving complicated?”

I think about Alexei sitting beside my hospital bed. Cooking my grandmother’s borscht. The way he looks at me like I’m something precious instead of an obligation.

“I love him in ways that terrify me and make me question everything I thought I wanted from life.”

“Then I’m terrified for you. Because loving dangerous men in that world means accepting that any day could be the last time you see them. Every goodbye might be permanent. Your children might grow up without a father because violence is built into every aspect of that life.”

“I know the risks.”

“Knowing and experiencing are different. I knew the risks when I married your father. But experiencing them year after year until they eroded everything inside me was something else.”

“What do you want me to say, Mama? That I’ll abandon the man I love and raise this baby alone somewhere safe and boring? Is that what would make you feel better about your choices?”

“I want you to promise me you’ll recognize when it becomes too much, and choose yourself and your child before the stress destroys your health the way it destroyed mine.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not you. My relationship with Alexei is different from what you had with Papa, and I refuse to accept that leaving is inevitable just because you couldn’t find another way.”

She makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. “You sound exactly like I did at your age. Convinced that love would beenough. That your situation was different, and that you were stronger than the circumstances.”

“Maybe I am.”

“I genuinely hope you’re right and I’m wrong about everything. But if I’m not—if you reach the breaking point where staying means losing yourself—I’ll be here. No judgment. No conditions. Just support for whatever choice you make.”

Tears slide down my face until my cheeks are soaked and my breathing is ragged. “I don’t know if I can trust that. After months of you being absent, how do I know you’ll be there when I need you?”

“I’ve given you no reason to trust my promises. All I can offer is my commitment to trying, and showing up repeatedly until you believe I’m not disappearing again. You’re my daughter, and I love you, even if that love looks different from what either of us expected.”

My phone dings with an incoming text. Probably Alexei checking on me. Or Dr. Orlov with reminders about prenatal vitamins. Either way, it’s the perfect excuse to end this so I can breathe and think.

“I need to go,” I tell Mama.

“Will you call again?” she asks, sounding almost frantic. “Let me know how you’re doing?”