by Lana Sky
But I never wake up from this nightmare.
Chapter Five
In a daze, I return to the house, but I don’t go upstairs to pack, even though I should. I find myself sitting at the dining room table instead, too numb to do anything but stare at a pile of mocking, goddamn documents. He made it sound so damn simple. Sign a piece of paper, claim joint custody of a little girl—like it was something people did on a daily basis.
On a whim.
Though in his world, maybe they do. Maxim did it? I wonder if that’s where his anger truly stems from. Maxim supposedly didn’t hesitate to take on six children when asked. But when it comes to his one?
I balk.
Because that’s what normal people do when presented with the gravity of caring for a child, a part of me insists. Leave, Tiffy. Run.
Run…
I find the strength to stand and make it upstairs, but I don’t enter the closet first. I stagger into the bathroom, alarmed by the woman I find watching me from the mirror’s surface. Her eyes are bloodshot, her hair a mess, her outfit totally unfashionable.
She’s a stranger—though not entirely. I’ve glimpsed her before, hunched over the sink, or cowering after a fight with Jim. After he made her feel so damn worthless…
And my already low mood plummets. What was that promise I made to myself all those months ago? Never again.
Bracing my hands over the countertop, I fight to take a deep breath. The moment I manage to drag in enough air, I release it slowly, tilting my head up to the ceiling. The last time I found myself in this position, I gave myself only a second to come up with a game plan. Back then, it was simple—live, kick ass, make my list. Fuck the world—literally.
But now?
This newer decision forms slowly, coming together as I strip my clothing and enter the shower, turning the water as hot as I can stand. Surrendering to the torrent, I let the heat and steam wash away my pain and hurt, watching it all circle the drain like blood. Then I towel off, and enter the closet, taking just one outfit from the hangers.
It’s a modest gray dress. Without thinking, I select the matching jacket, and complete the outfit with a black leather purse and heels. The resulting effect is a more confident woman than the disheveled waif in gift shop clothing. And yet it’s still not enough. I have to run a brush through my hair and carefully apply enough makeup to disguise the red blotches from crying. Then I line my eyes with liner and spread a soft pink lipstick on my lips.
Only now do I feel like myself again.
When I finally return downstairs, I’m surprised to find Ena leaning against the front door. Spotting me, he cocks his head, his expression wary.
“You go back?” His tone surprises me almost as much as his neutral gaze. It isn’t hostile, for once.
I nod, and he grunts in reply, lumbering to open the door. “I bring car around.”
“I’ll be there in a moment.” With my head held high, I take a detour into the kitchen, grabbing the handful of documents from the dining room table. I flip through them, picking out the adoption papers pertaining to Magda, ignoring the rest. He had this all planned out meticulously, it seems—the bastard even left his pen.
Lifting it, I give myself one last chance to second-guess the decision…
Before I sign my name on every last page. As I watch the ink dry, I rip off my fake engagement ring and leave it right by the unsigned marriage documents.
And don’t regret a damn thing.
A different woman claims the ICU reception desk when I approach. She takes one look at me, and her frown deepens as though she’s recalling some warning about a woman matching my description.
The second I slam a stack of documents down before her, however, her frown fades.
“I’m here to see the patient in room 2207,” I say in my chirpiest voice with my most charming smile. “I’m her legal guardian.”
The woman nods and rises to her feet, but this time she beckons me after her, down a wide hallway and past an open nurse’s station. Another woman is already advancing to meet us, her gray suit practical, a sturdy briefcase tucked under her arm.
“Mrs. Gorgoshev!” She extends her hand to me, her smile warm, and I vaguely recognize her as Magda’s social worker. Ms. Anderson.
“I wish I could stay longer,” she says with a small laugh. “Current circumstances aside, I’ll confess that I don’t think I’ve seen Magda look happier in a long time. I have the doctor’s information, and they’ll keep me posted on her condition…” She breaks off, scanning my face, and I sense her smile widen as if she’s desperate to reassure me the same way she must soothe those in her care. “Don’t worry now. She’s a tough girl. And this visit is just a formality given her hospital admission. I have to get going, but I’ll contact your husband about the next check-in. Have a wonderful day!”
She scampers off, leaving the nurse to continue forging the way through the small unit. There, in a room at the very back of the space, I find Magdalene, resting in bed, chatting animatedly to a figure who’s seated beside her, holding her hand.
“…and then I wanna ride my pony, and—Tiffany!” Her tiny face breaks into a smile so wide it almost distracts from the alarming pallor of her skin. A sheen of sweat ghosts her forehead, gluing stray curls to the damp flesh. Gone are her neat braids, and the tousled style only enhances her similarities to the man nearby. While she may not be on a ventilator—thank God—a series of tubing extends from an IV. The mass of bandages looks monstrous encircling her fragile wrist. Not that the treatment has dampened her excitement any—she squirms, prevented from claiming the object I’m holding between two hands. “Is that for me?”
“It is,” I tell her, placing a giant bear nearly as big as she is on the end of her bed. She beams, too exhausted I suspect, to feign disinterest.
The figure beside her quietly rises to his feet. I sense his eyes on me, unusually wide—with shock? It doesn’t matter. In this moment, he doesn’t exist, and I pour all of my attention into Magda as I pull up a free chair beside her.
“Where were you all day?” she demands, eyeing me with an eyebrow raised.
This time, I do make the mistake of glancing toward Vadim. His expression is guarded, impossible to read. I guess he spared Magdalene his little rant. He didn’t even tell her I tried to visit.
But I don’t have the heart to challenge that now—for Magda’s sake. Instead, I smile and tug on one of her new bear’s enormous arms. “I was trying to find the perfect friend to keep you company,” I tease. “What shall you call him?”
“Hmmm.” She bites her lip and shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”
“Well, you better think of something good.” I slip out of my coat and fold it over the side of my chair.
“You’re staying?” she asks, her expression brightening even more.
I nod. “Of course. In fact, I’m going to stay with you all night.” As I speak, I fixate my gaze on the man standing near the doorway, letting every ounce of vitriol seep into my expression. It’s so much I almost can’t contain it without wanting to sob. Break.
But I don’t.
“Whatever you need, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”
Vadim says nothing until he finally crosses the threshold, his back to us. “I’ll get you some more water, chérie.”
He leaves, and Magda promptly picks up whatever tale she was in the middle of conveying to him. Something about all of the things she wants to do once discharged from the hospital. Go on an airplane. See the beach. Ride her pony off the lead. Go bike riding. Eat ice cream.
I file away every request, determined to ensure she gets to do every last one.
“You came.”
The grated voice draws me out of a light sleep, and I blink my eyes open to a spacious hospital room, lit only by a few dimmed lamps. Magda is sleeping, her chest rising and falling, her new bear practically swallowing her though she tried her damn hardest to wrestle it under one arm. It lies tucked beneath the blanket
s on her other side, with Biphany on her nightstand.
The sight of her erases any doubts that may have crept in as I slept. I have no regrets. Motherhood wasn’t on my original list, but I can make an addendum. No relationships—but this one. For Magdalene.
As for her father?
I stiffen the second I sense him enter the room, his face in shadow, his posture rigid. “You signed the documents?” He doesn’t sound doubtful—more prodding, as if this is his way of demanding proof.
Luckily for us both, I’ve come more than prepared to rub his nose in my decision.
Forcing out a cold laugh, I reach under my chair, snatching the adoption papers from my purse. I throw them at him, watching them scatter throughout the room like misshapen snowflakes.
“Yeah, I signed your fucking papers,” I hiss.
Despite the vitriol, my voice is barely louder than a whisper, and I keep Magda in my line of sight, watching for any signs she might be awake. She looks so peaceful in this moment. So innocent. Even in my anger, I can’t risk upsetting her. So, I direct every ounce of loathing I can into the harshest stage-whisper.
“But I did it for her,” I croak, my throat tight. “Not you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a single mother forced to share custody with an asshole who doesn’t even have the privilege of being called my ex-husband. Congrats, Vadim. You’re below Jim on the ‘people who have fucked me over’ list. I hope you’re pleased with yourself. Now take your fucking papers and get the hell out. In the morning, you can have time with her, considering you barred me all fucking day!”
He flinches so slightly it could be a trick of the light. Then that telltale muscle in his jaw twitches before his expression hardens with resolve. He crouches, carefully gathering up every last document. Then he tucks them under his arm and leaves.
And I’m more confused than ever, slumping in my seat, my eyes blinking fiercely. He should have been angry at my change of heart, right? Angry that I had the nerve to show up at all. Not…resigned?
Like baiting me into agreeing to take custody was his plan all along.
Because that would be far too cruel. Way too manipulative.
That would be unforgivable.
I wake up a second time to find Magda watching me from her bed, her blue eyes unreadable.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, placing my hand over one of hers.
“Better.” She shrugs, ever the stoic. “But I’m hungry.”
“Okay, honey.” Yawning, I lurch to my feet and set off in search of a nurse. By the time her breakfast is served, and the nurse has finished her morning assessment—her vitals are improving, and pending another round of bloodwork, she could be discharged as early as tomorrow—Vadim arrives, and I promptly prepare to make my exit.
“You’re leaving?” Magda watches me from over her breakfast tray, her eyes so wide that I assume she’s been perfecting this innocent expression solely for moments like this. Gosh, she’s so much like her father, but the comparison stings now more than it feels endearing.
An emotional terrorist with a devastating arsenal at her disposal.
“Yes, honey,” I say, gathering up my coat as Vadim claims the chair on the opposite end of her bed. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I hesitate beside her only to change my mind at the last second. Boundaries be damned. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead. Her fever has broken, but she still feels clammy, her skin far too pale. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” I warn, tugging on one of her curls.
On my way out, I stop by the nurses’ station and write down their number. Then I exit the hospital to find Ena waiting out front, as gruff as ever. But, as he steers the car back toward the house, he grunts in an uncharacteristic way. Then he speaks. “You no understand.”
“I’m sorry?” I reply, aiming for politeness. I’m too tired to direct my anger at anyone but Vadim.
“You no understand,” he insists, his jaw clenched as if speaking to me is an agonizing ordeal. And yet, he persists. “Mr. Vadim did not want to hurt you.” He takes his time to phrase the words carefully. “He was scared. Scared of her.”
“Irina?” I ask, my nostrils flaring. How could something as momentous as Magda’s mother returning out of the blue go ignored until now? It just serves as a testament to the emotional roller coaster Vadim and his life have set me on. At this point, I’m no longer aware of which way is up or down. I’m trapped, along for the ride. “Magda’s mother?”
Ena nods, snorting in disgust. “She crazy. Mr. Vadim only want to protect the girl.”
Protect. It’s a strong word to use in the context of a mother seeking to reconnect with her child. One that I suspect Ena isn’t using lightly.
“Do you know her?”
He nods, and in the rearview mirror, I see his upper lip pull back from his teeth, his eyes narrowed. “I know her. She is viper. From the old days. Mr. Vadim never saw it, but Ena did.” He nods, smug. And yet there’s a hint of regret shaping his features. “She cannot have girl. He did it for her.”
It being ban me from seeing Magda when she needed me the most. It as in turning the tables and yet demanding my trust. It as in shattering any hope of us ever being in a healthy relationship.
“He told you?” Ena demands. “Of the old days?”
He phrases it all so carefully that I recognize the sensitivity of the subject he’s referring to—Vadim’s past.
“Yes,” I say thickly. “He told me. He told me… That you saved his life.”
Ena’s lips twitch into a scowl. “No. That place? It was hell. And Vadim, he good at pretending. They all did.”
“Pretending?”
He shrugs, frustrated by my lack of understanding. “He was the only one to ask for help,” he adds with deliberate slowness. “The others. They pretend. He didn’t.”
I say nothing, disturbed by the picture he paints. A hellscape of abused victims too conditioned to their ordeals to show their pain. The one time Vadim did—allow himself to be vulnerable—he expected to die soon after.
But what does he expect from me?
Ena doesn’t give me any insight on that front, falling silent—though I sense he wants to say more. Maybe I should let him? About Irina and Vadim and their murky past, clouding everyone’s judgment.
Or I can seethe and wallow, and try to lick my wounds in peace.
God, I need to be angry with him. Hate him. I don’t think I’ll have anything left in me otherwise.
Once we reach the house, I grab some food from the kitchen and shower. Then I leave the master bedroom, slip on my coat, and head out onto the terrace. It’s freezing out, but I ignore the chill and curl up on a wooden-framed lounger overlooking the water. Not for the first time, I indulge in the idea of leaving. Running away. Ignoring Vadim and his fucked-up life and going back to California.
It startles me to realize how much I miss it. My old family home in the heart of wine country. My parents, whom I’ve been avoiding pretty much since my divorce out of shame. A sudden longing for home rises up so swiftly I sob silently in the face of it, and I decide on the spot to stop letting guilt and manipulation run my life.
Vadim won. He got his way to an extent—but I plan on taking my power back tenfold. He wanted me to be a mother to his daughter, then fine. But that means nothing as far as he is concerned.
And it’s best I prove that fact to us both.
Sooner rather than later.
Chapter Six
I don’t know how, but I must fall asleep because I startle to awareness as a shadow falls over me. It’s cast by a suit jacket, I realize, one someone is in the process of draping over me. My eyes drift up, spotting a beautiful face, so haggard my heart aches in sympathy. No man should carry such scars so openly—such pain.
But then I blink, and reality comes surging back. I remember, and I nearly fall off the lounger in my rush to get away from him.
“Don’t touch me!”
“I apologize.” Vadim recoils, his expression shifting
, his wall lifting. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He sounds so damn defensive. As if I don’t have the right to shrug off his jacket and lurch to my feet, marching as far from him as the terrace space will allow.
Only now—as my legs buckle beneath me—do I realize that I’m freezing. That my fingers are numb, my teeth chattering so fiercely my jaw aches.
“You can have the bed,” Vadim says, his tone eerily level. Ice. “I’ll sleep in my office—”
“I don’t want to sleep anywhere you’ve been,” I hiss.
He nods. “I’ll have a guest bedroom made up for you, then.”
“Fuck off!” I cross my arms, storming to the end of the pool. “I’m sure you’re so twisted in the head that you think I’d rather freeze to death on purpose. Catch a cold like I supposedly infected Magda?”
From the corner of my eye, I see him flinch as if struck. “I’m sorry,” he grates. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t talk to me about mean! I will never forgive you for this. Never.” My eyes burn, and the desperate need to salvage my pride makes me reckless enough to risk adding, “So I hope you’re prepared to do long-distance parenting.”
My threat takes a second to register. The moment it does, his entire posture shifts, his height lengthening, eyes narrowing. “Long-distance?”
I shiver at the subtle way his voice drops a dangerous octave.
“How is Magda?” I demand, picking another battle to fight—the one regarding my leaving can wait. Preferably when my bags are already packed and a plane ticket booked. Even now, I still hear his voice, persistent. You haven’t asked yourself, will I let you go?
I’m trapped in the memory—and now his past words feel more of a threat than anything else.
“She’s fine,” Vadim says, drawing my attention back to him. “The doctor believes it is a minor infection, but given her history, they decided to monitor her more carefully. She’s improving, at least. If her vital signs are stable by the morning, and if she continues to take her antibiotic, she can be discharged within a few days.”