Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stella
Polina’s weight in my arms feels both substantial and impossibly delicate as I make my way down the corridor of the Left Wing.
She’s awake but quiet, dark eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with that peculiar alertness newborns sometimes possess. I adjust her blanket, tucking it more securely around her tiny body.
With each step toward Bobik’s room, memories surface like bubbles rising through water. My father’s frantic packing in our St. Petersburg apartment. My mother’s tears as she stuffed clothes into suitcases. The hushed, urgent conversations behind closed doors.
“We have to leave tonight. The Bratva will find us if we stay.”
“What about our things? The clinic?”
“Forget it. This is about survival.”
I hadn’t understood then. At barely seventeen, I’d been devastated to leave my friends, my school, everything familiar. I’d blamed my father’s “career opportunity” in America, resented the sudden upheaval.
Now I know we were running from Aleksei. From his rage, from his vengeance for what my father had done to his son.
The irony doesn’t escape me— carrying Aleksei’s daughter to meet the very child my father damaged. The weight of Polina in my arms is nothing compared to the weight of this knowledge.
I pause outside Bobik’s door, gathering myself. Aleksei is handling some “urgent business” today— something to do with Diana. We’d spoken about introducing Polina to Bobik soon, but I’ve decided not to wait. Something about this meeting feels necessary, like a step I need to take alone.
I knock softly, then push the door open.
“Stella!” Bobik’s face lights up instantly, his smile transforming his features. He sets aside a thick book on quantum physics— light reading for a ten-year-old, apparently— and wheels himself toward us. “My favorite friend! I missed you!”
Despite everything I’ve just learned, I find myself smiling genuinely in response. There’s something about Bobik that makes it impossible not to. His enthusiasm, his sweetness, the intelligence shining in his eyes— my daughter’s eyes, her father’s eyes.
“I missed you, too,” I say, moving closer. “Someone special wanted to meet her big brother.”
His gaze shifts to the bundle in my arms, awe spreading across his face. “Is that…? Is she…?”
“Your baby sister. Yes, sweetheart.” I feel my heart swell at the sight of his genuine joy.
He peers into her tiny face and then looks up at me, eyes shining. “Can I… can I hold her?”
“Of course.” I carefully place Polina in his lap, adjusting his arms to support her head properly. “Just like that. Perfect.”
He doesn’t need much guidance. Despite his age, there’s a natural carefulness to his movements, an intuitive understanding of how to hold a baby. They look at each other— the newborn and the boy— and something passes between them, recognition perhaps.
They have the same eyes. The same dark intensity that their father possesses, though softened by childhood innocence in Bobik and newborn wonder in Polina. The same strong profile, the same determined set to their mouths.
Half-siblings bound by their father’s blood and separated by circumstance.
“She’s so tiny,” Bobik whispers, gently touching Polina’s cheek with one finger. “Hello, little sister. I’m your big brother.”
I step back slightly, watching them together. Polina seems perfectly content in his lap, her eyes fixed on his face with that strange focus newborns sometimes have.
“Where’s Papa?” Bobik asks, not looking up from his sister.
“He had some business to handle,” I answer vaguely. “He’ll be by later, I’m sure.”
I wonder briefly what “business” could have caused the tightness around Aleksei’s eyes this morning when I saw him briefly. The barely controlled tension in his movements. Something dangerous, perhaps. Something Bratva-related.
“Has your memory come back?” Bobik asks suddenly, his perceptiveness catching me off guard. “Papa said you were starting to feel better.”
I move to sit on the edge of his bed, bringing myself to his eye level. “Yes, most of it has returned.”
His smile brightens. “Good. I was worried you might forget our chess games. I’ve been practicing.”
“Well, I might need a refresher on your special moves,” I say, returning his smile.
He adjusts Polina slightly, his movements careful but confident. “Papa says you’re staying with us forever now. That you’re family.”
The statement hits me with unexpected force. Forever. Family. Such simple words to describe something so impossibly complicated.
Before I can formulate a response, Polina makes a small gurgling sound, drawing Bobik’s attention back to her. His face immediately transforms into an exaggerated expression of surprise, eyes wide and mouth in an “O” shape.
“Look at you!” he coos, voice rising in pitch. “Are you talking to me? Are you?”
Polina responds with a delighted wiggle, her tiny hand reaching up to grasp at his face. When she catches his nose, Bobik makes a honking sound that sends her into what can only be described as baby ecstasy— her whole body tensing with excitement.
Their laughter fills the room— his bright and clear, hers a bubbling, hiccupping sound that seems too big for her tiny body. The joy between them is palpable, infectious.
And heartbreaking.
Watching them, I can’t help but imagine what might have been.
In another world, one where my father hadn’t been drunk that day, Bobik might be running through this mansion, chasing his little sister.
He might be playing soccer in the garden, climbing trees, experiencing all the physical freedoms most children take for granted.
Instead, he’s confined to a wheelchair, his brilliant mind trapped in a body that can’t fully respond to its commands. Because of my father’s negligence. Because of a mistake that set in motion events that would eventually claim both my parents’ lives.
“When I have my operation,” Bobik says suddenly, still looking at Polina, “I’m going to run with you in the garden. The doctor is working on new technology that might help me walk.”
“You are going to try another surgery?” I ask, surprised.
He nods. “Mm-hmm! I can’t give up. I’m going to walk one day. I know it!” His face shines with childlike optimism.
My chest tightens. “That would be wonderful,” I say around a lump in my throat. I mask it with a warm smile that seems to satisfy him.
“I’ll teach you everything,” he continues, speaking to Polina now. “How to play chess. How to identify constellations. The best hiding places in the manor.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a secret passage in the library. Papa doesn’t know I know about it.”
I reach out, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re going to be an amazing big brother.”
“I already am,” he says with such confidence that I can’t help but laugh. “We have the same eyes, don’t we? Papa’s eyes.”
“Yes,” I agree softly. “You do.”
How do I explain to a ten-year-old that his condition exists because of my father’s negligence? That his father killed mine in revenge? That our baby links us all in this tragic circle? The answer is simple: I don’t. I can’t. Some truths are too heavy for children to bear. Even for us, adults.
Bobik deserves his innocence, his hope for the future, his uncomplicated love for his sister. And Polina deserves a brother who sees only possibilities, not the painful history that connects them.
“Do you think she’ll like science?” Bobik asks, gently rocking Polina as she begins to fuss slightly. “Or will she be artistic?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “She’ll be her own person. But she’ll always have you to guide her.”
He nods solemnly, accepting this responsibility with characteristic seriousness. Then his expression shifts to something more hesitant. “Will you… will you bring her to visit me often? Even when Papa is busy?”
The question reveals the loneliness beneath his cheerful exterior. How many hours does he spend alone in this room, waiting for visits, for connection?
“Of course I will,” I promise, meaning it completely. Whatever happens between Aleksei and me, whatever impossible decisions lie ahead, I won’t abandon this boy. I can’t. “You’re her brother. That’s important.”
Satisfaction spreads across his face. He looks down at Polina, who has started to drift toward sleep, her eyelids growing heavy. “Hear that, Polina? I’m important.”
The simple statement, delivered with such innocent pride, nearly breaks me.
In this moment, watching these two children— one born to privilege but confined by disability, one newborn with endless physical potential— I feel a fierce protectiveness that transcends the complications of their parentage.
They are innocent. They deserve better than the legacy of pain and vengeance their father and I have created.
Whatever my future holds— whether I can find a way to stay with Aleksei despite our bloody history, whether I can build something new from the ashes of the past— I know one thing with absolute certainty: these siblings will have each other. I will make sure of it.
As Polina finally surrenders to sleep in her brother’s arms, Bobik looks up at me with eyes bright with intelligence and hope.
“We’re a family now,” he says simply.
And despite everything, despite the impossible complexity that statement ignores, I find myself nodding.
For them, at least, it can be that simple.