Chapter Eleven
Stella
A soft knock on my door pulls me from the hazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness.
I blink against the afternoon light streaming through the curtains, momentarily disoriented.
“Come in,” I call, pushing myself up against the pillows.
A woman stands at the door, and I recognize her as Aleksei’s sister Diana— partly from the photo in his study and partly because a memory flickers at the sight of her. The two of us are sitting at the pool. We’re friends… of sorts.
Diana enters, immaculate as always in a cream-colored pantsuit that makes her look like she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Her dark hair is swept into a sleek chignon, not a strand out of place.
She carries herself with such composed elegance that I feel rumpled and disheveled in comparison, even though I’m wearing one of the expensive maternity dresses I found in my closet.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice carrying that same slight Russian accent as Aleksei’s, though hers is softer, more refined.
“Better, I think.” I smooth my hand over my belly absently. “The headaches are less frequent.”
Diana nods, her dark eyes assessing me carefully. “Bobik is asking for you. He returned from the hospital yesterday.”
“Bobik,” I repeat, the name triggering a flash of warmth. A small face. Intelligent eyes. A smile that could light up a room. The boy from the photo holding Aleksei’s hand. His son. “Yes, I’d love to see him.”
Something in Diana’s expression shifts— relief, perhaps? “Good. He’s missed you terribly.” She tilts her head. “Aleksei told me about your amnesia. How much do you remember?”
“Not a lot,” I say ruefully. “But things are coming back to me in flashes. Some things more slowly. But I think I’ll be fine.” I say it with more confidence than I feel.
She gives a nod, then waits as I rise from bed and straighten my clothes self-consciously. It seems all I do is sleep these days.
As we walk through the corridors of Blackwood Manor, Diana fills the silence with careful conversation, explaining the layout of the Left Wing, mentioning routines and schedules in a way that suggests I should already know them.
I nod at appropriate intervals, trying to absorb as much as I can, desperate for any information that might trigger my memory.
“Bobik’s apartment is on the upper level,” she explains as we climb a gently sloping ramp. “It was renovated specifically for him.”
“Because of his wheelchair?” The question comes naturally, and I realize I must have known about his condition before.
Diana gives me a quick, appraising glance. “Yes. Aleksei had everything customized for maximum accessibility.”
We reach a door at the end of the hallway, and Diana knocks gently before pushing it open.
The space beyond is unlike anything I expected— bright, airy, filled with books and technology.
Large windows offer sweeping views of the estate grounds, and the walls are covered with star charts and scientific posters.
In the center of it all, a small boy sits in a wheelchair, his face lighting up when he sees us.
“Stella!” he exclaims, wheeling himself toward me eagerly. “You came!”
Something inside me melts at the sight of him. Despite my fractured memory, I feel an immediate connection to this child. His dark eyes shine with intelligence and warmth.
“Of course I did,” I say, smiling as I move to meet him. “How could I stay away?”
Diana watches our interaction with careful attention, her eyes missing nothing. “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she says after a moment. “Bobik, remember what your father said about tiring yourself out.”
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I know, I know. I’ll be careful.”
When Diana leaves, closing the door softly behind her, Bobik gestures toward a comfortable armchair near his desk. “Sit down! Tetya Deedee says you’ve been sick, so I mustn’t tire you.”
I lower myself into the chair, touched by his concern. “How are you feeling? I heard you just got back from the hospital, too.”
His smile dims slightly. “I’m okay. The operation didn’t work like it was supposed to, but Dr. Malhotra says they can try again later with better technology.”
My heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Bobik.”
He shrugs with a casualness that doesn’t quite mask his disappointment.
“It’s fine. I’m used to this chair anyway.” He wheels himself to a shelf filled with books. “Want to see what I’ve been reading? There’s this amazing new book about quantum entanglement that explains it so even kids can understand!”
For the next hour, Bobik chatters enthusiastically about science concepts that I struggle to follow.
Before my memory loss, I must have been able to keep up with his brilliant mind, because he keeps referencing conversations we apparently had— discussions about neuroscience, astronomy, theoretical physics.
“Don’t you think that’s fascinating?” he asks after explaining something about black holes that went completely over my head.
I hesitate, not wanting to disappoint him. “I… I’m having a little trouble with my memory right now, Bobik. Some things are still fuzzy.”
His brow furrows with concern. “ Tetya mentioned something about that. You got hurt?”
“Yes.” I touch the back of my head where a faint tenderness still lingers. “I hit my head, and now I can’t remember some things. But the doctors say it will get better with time.”
He considers this with the seriousness of a much older person. “The brain is incredible at healing itself,” he says confidently. “Did you know that neurons can form new pathways when old ones are damaged? It’s called neuroplasticity.”
Despite my confusion, I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely! We talked about it when you were helping me with my science project, remember? About how the brain adapts to injury?”
I don’t remember, of course, but I nod anyway, not wanting to see disappointment in those intelligent eyes.
“It’ll come back to me.”
“I can help,” he offers earnestly. “I’m really good at explaining things.”
Diana returns shortly after, bringing snacks and reminding Bobik about his medication schedule. As she guides our conversation, I notice how she carefully steers us away from topics that might highlight my memory gaps. She’s protecting both of us— Bobik from confusion, and me from embarrassment.
Before we leave, Bobik reaches for my hand. “You’ll come back soon, right?”
“I’d love to,” I tell him, meaning it completely. Despite my fogginess, being with him feels right— comfortable in a way few things have since I woke up in that hospital bed.
As I leave with Diana, I think back over the time I spent with the boy. The sense of familiarity appeals to me. Maybe it will spark something.
“I’ll take you back to your room,” says Diana, but I shake my head.
“It’s fine. I know my way,” I assure her. “Besides, I’d like to take a walk.”
She eyes me for a moment before nodding. “I’ll see you later,” she says before heading off down the hallway. I watch her leave, then, on impulse, turn in the opposite direction, toward Aleksei’s study.
I find him there, surrounded by paperwork.
He looks up when I enter, his dark eyes unreadable.
There’s been a cautious sense of ease between us since that night we spent together.
We haven’t spoken about it, but I’ve been back there since then, the connection leaving me more relaxed in his presence.
Yet still, I’m not sure how he’ll respond to my next request.
“I spent some time with Bobik today,” I say without preamble.
His eyes narrow. “I wish you’d spoken to me about that first.”
My eyes narrow too. “Is it a problem?”
He pauses before responding. “No.” There’s another pause. “You remembered him?”
“Yes,” I say. “Well, not entirely, but enough to know he’s brilliant. He must be bored being confined to his room all day, and frankly, so am I. I think it would be good for both of us if we spent some time together.”
Aleksei’s expression remains carefully neutral, but I see the way his fingers tighten slightly around his pen. “His immune system is compromised after the surgery,” he says. “We need to be careful about exposure.”
“I understand that,” I persist. “But surely with proper precautions—?”
“It’s not just about physical health,” he interrupts. “Bobik is… sensitive. He’s been through a lot.”
I understand the unspoken concern. Bobik might become attached to me, depend on me, and what happens if my memory returns and I decide to leave? What if I remember why I should fear this man who watches me with such intensity?
“I’m not going to hurt him,” I say softly. “I may not remember everything, but I know how I feel when I’m with him. He’s special to me.”
Something shifts in Aleksei’s expression— a softening around the eyes, perhaps.
“Fine,” he concedes after a long moment. “But with precautions. And only for short periods until we’re sure he’s recovering well.”
“Thank you,” I say, relief washing through me. “Can I see him again today?”
He nods once, decisively. “After his afternoon rest. I’ll have someone let you know when he’s awake.”
I return to my room feeling lighter than I have in days. Having a purpose, even a small one, makes the fog of my memory loss seem a little less oppressive. I lie on my bed, one hand resting on my swollen belly, feeling our daughter’s gentle movements beneath my palm.
My eyelids grow heavy, and I drift into that strange twilight state between wakefulness and sleep.
Images flash behind my closed eyes— disjointed, frightening.
A building that looks like a warehouse, concrete floors stained with something dark.
Two people— a man and a woman— standing over me.
The woman’s face twists with hatred as she spits words I can’t quite hear.
Fear washes through me, cold and paralyzing.
“No! I won’t!” My own sharp words rouse me, and I jerk awake with a gasp, my heart pounding. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air of the room. The fragments of memory— if that’s what they were— slip away before I can grasp them fully, leaving only a lingering sense of dread.
Desperate to shake off the unsettling feeling, I get up and begin straightening my already tidy room. I open drawers at random, seeking distraction in mundane tasks. In the bottom drawer of the nightstand, I find a small box labeled “Discovery Deck: Science Conversations for Kids.”
Curious, I open it to find a set of beautifully illustrated cards, each featuring a scientific question on one side and a child-friendly explanation on the other. I flip through them, reading questions aloud to myself.
“Why do some animals hibernate during the winter, and how do they survive without eating?”
“Why do stars twinkle in the night sky, but planets don’t seem to twinkle as much?”
Perfect. This is exactly what I need for my time with Bobik— something structured that won’t highlight the gaps in my knowledge while still allowing us to connect.
When the message comes that Bobik is awake and ready for visitors, I gather the cards and make my way to his apartment. I follow all of Aleksei’s precautions meticulously— sanitizing my hands, leaving my shoes in the hallway, keeping a careful distance.
Bobik’s face lights up when he sees the deck in my hands. “The Discovery cards! I love those!”
We spend two hours working through the deck, taking turns reading questions and discussing the answers.
With the cards as a guide, our conversation flows naturally.
I don’t have to pretend to know things I’ve forgotten; instead, we explore the questions together, Bobik often expanding on the printed explanations with additional facts he’s learned from his extensive reading.
By the time we finish, we’re both tired but happy. The tension that’s been my constant companion since waking up in the hospital has eased slightly, replaced by a genuine contentment that feels like a small victory.
“Thanks for coming, Stella,” Bobik says as I prepare to leave. “This was the best day since I got home.”
“For me too,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Back in my room, I place the Discovery Deck on my nightstand, intending to return it to the drawer. As I do, a particular card catches my eye. I pick it up, reading the question printed in elegant script:
“How does the brain help us remember things, and why do we sometimes forget important details?”
I stare at the card for a long moment, my finger tracing the embossed letters. The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, surrounded by a life I can’t remember, people who know me better than I know myself, and secrets I can sense… but not access.
I turn the card over, hoping for answers, but the simplified explanation meant for children offers little comfort to someone whose entire identity has been fractured.
I set the card down with a sigh.
“I wish I knew,” I whisper to the empty room.