Chapter 5 #2
They slid down my cheeks before I could intercept them.
I swiped them away roughly.
Another followed.
“Damn it...”
I pressed both palms against my face.
Forcefully.
Like I could physically push emotion back inside.
I had prepared for this.
For seeing him.
For seeing the physical manifestation of everything I had lost.
But preparation meant nothing when reality hit.
A small touch brushed against my hand.
I froze.
Muscle memory activated instantly.
My body reacted before my brain could process.
I jerked back slightly.
Yannis flinched too.
His eyes widened.
He had been curled under the duvet on the bed — hidden partially from view.
I had assumed he was asleep.
Instead, he had been watching.
He now stood upright.
Dark hair messy from sleep.
Wearing an oversized T-shirt that had once belonged to Ruslan.
Tall for his age.
Shoulders already beginning to broaden.
His face had started losing the softness of childhood.
But his eyes —
Slate gray.
The exact same shade as his father’s.
“Yannis...”
My voice came out softer than I intended.
It cracked slightly around his name.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I said quickly, moving instinctively toward him.
My hands hovered for a second — unsure whether to touch him or give him space.
“You startled me.”
He stayed still. Watching. Measuring.
His eyes were locked onto my face like he was trying to confirm that I wasn’t a projection of memory or a dream that would dissolve if he blinked.
There was relief there.
But it was tangled with doubt.
“The bad dreams came back,” he signed.
His hands moved smoothly — practiced, precise.
My chest caved inward at his words.
Bad dreams.
Plural.
That meant they weren’t random.
They were recurring.
I stepped closer and gently guided him toward the small two-seater loveseat positioned by the window.
He followed without resistance.
We sat down side by side.
Close enough that our knees almost touched.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence.
“Your dad told me you’ve stopped going outside to play,” I said carefully.
“Struggling at school. Keeping to yourself.”
He shifted slightly.
His jaw tightened — a habit he had inherited from Ruslan.
His fingers flexed once before he signed.
“You left me.”
The accusation came suddenly.
It wasn’t anger.
It was confusion wrapped around hurt.
The words pierced through every protective layer I had built around myself.
How could I explain?
How could I tell him that his father had engineered my imprisonment?
That I had been framed.
Locked away.
Drugged.
Tortured.
Separated from him by design?
And how could I explain that during that time I had carried another child — only to lose it under brutal conditions?
Would that information free him?
Or would it burden him with adult pain he wasn’t ready to carry?
I chose honesty without detail.
I signed back slowly.
“It was never deliberate.”
My eyes locked onto his.
“I didn’t wake up one day and decide to leave you.”
I paused. “I was forced away.”
His brow furrowed.
“By who?”
The question was direct.
I hesitated.
I could not turn this moment into a courtroom testimony against his father.
Not yet.
Not when he still depended on Ruslan for stability.
“By circumstances that were bigger than me at the time,” I answered carefully.
“That’s the truth.”
He watched me closely.
Trying to read what I wasn’t saying.
Kids are experts at detecting omissions.
After several long seconds, his shoulders relaxed slightly.
He leaned back against the cushion.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
“Every time I close my eyes,” he signed quietly,
“I see Mom.”
My breath caught.
“She feels closer than before.”
I felt the weight of every lost year settle heavily across my shoulders as I watched him.
I had once been here, helping Yannis recover from the trauma of losing his mother. After her death, he had withdrawn into silence — losing the ability to speak, trapped inside grief too heavy for a child to carry.
Slowly, carefully, I had been rebuilding that broken world for him. He was beginning to open up again. The words were returning. The trust was returning. The stability I gave him was something he clung to.
Until Ruslan decided Yannis could do without me.
And just like that — quietly, deliberately — Ruslan began pulling his son away from me, dismantling the fragile foundation I had spent so long building.
He didn’t destroy it with anger. He destroyed it with distance.
Gently.
Systematically.
He took the stability I had given Yannis — and removed me from it.
Blind with revenge.
Obsessed with control.
Ruslan had done this to him.
Not intentionally perhaps to hurt his son —
But intentionally to remove me.
And in doing so, he had created a vacuum that swallowed the child’s voice.
I inhaled slowly and took both of Yannis’s hands in mine.
My thumbs brushed over his knuckles.
It grounded him.
It grounded me.
“I’m here now, Yannis,” I signed carefully. “And I promise you — you will speak again.”
His eyes followed my hands closely.
He understood every word.
“Those dreams?” I signed. “They feel heavy right now.”
I gently tapped my chest to emphasize emotion. “But memories aren’t permanent anchors. They fade.”
My fingers moved again.
“They turn into air. And we make them small enough to breathe around.”
His gaze searched mine.
Wary. Hopeful. Exhausted.
A child trying to reconcile abandonment with reunion.
“But you aren’t staying permanently, are you?” he signed.
The question landed like a blade.
It exposed the fear underneath everything.
He already assumed departure was inevitable.
He was protecting himself from disappointment.
My chest tightened.
He wasn’t asking randomly.
He had observed. He had listened.
He had probably overheard fragments of conversations between me and his father.
“I know my dad is not in good terms with you,” he continued.
His hands moved with precision — clear, direct. “Are you two divorced?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
He had connected legal status to emotional stability.
In his mind, divorce might mean final separation.
I kept my expression steady.
My mind flashed briefly to the divorce papers sitting inside my satchel downstairs.
Ready.
Signed by me.
Waiting for Ruslan’s signature.
“Your dad and I aren’t divorced,” I said aloud.
My voice sounded calm.
But internally I finished the thought.
Not yet.
“But you two are not on good terms, right?” he signed immediately.
He wasn’t letting me hide behind vague answers.
He wanted clarity.
Truth.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. “Your dad and I will sort our issues out.”
Careful wording.
Neutral phrasing.
“But I’ll be here with you — for as long as it takes.”
It wasn’t a lie.
It was conditional.
The part I didn’t say aloud remained hidden:
I would be here physically.
Emotionally.
Strategically.
Until the mission required something different.
The half-truth tasted bitter.
But necessary.
Yannis studied me for several long seconds.
Then something shifted.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
He let out a small breath — like releasing tension he had been holding since I walked in.
He leaned forward unexpectedly.
And rested his head against my shoulder.
The gesture caught me off guard.
I froze for half a second.
Shock.
Then instinct took over.
I wrapped my arm around him immediately.
Holding him close.
His hair smelled faintly of citrus shampoo mixed with clean cotton sheets.
Familiar. Comforting. Real.
We stayed like that.
Breathing together.
Silent.
Time stretched.
No words needed.
Thirty minutes passed — or maybe longer.
I didn’t check.
I simply memorized the sensation of his weight against me.
The warmth. The steadiness. Proof that he was still reachable.
Eventually he lifted his head.
Stood without saying anything.
Walked toward the bed.
He lay down on his back. Hands tucked behind his head.
Eyes fixed on the ceiling.
As if staring at invisible stars only he could see.
I cleared my throat softly.
“Yannis...”
He glanced over at me.
“Would you like to go out tomorrow? Just us.”
His expression remained neutral — guarded.
“Somewhere quiet.”
I continued quickly.
“Maybe the beach.”
“Or that small park with the ducks you used to love feeding.”
I remembered how he had laughed chasing birds across the grass.
He watched me carefully.
No immediate response. No excitement. No rejection either.
He simply looked away again — processing.
I understood.
He had learned not to trust promises of outings.
Not to expect consistency.
I stood slowly. “I’ll talk to your dad about it.”
“Make sure you’re ready, okay?”
I softened my tone.
“And if the nightmares come...”
His fingers tightened slightly on the blanket.
“...if you’re ever scared to sleep alone...”
I stepped closer to the door. “My room is right next door.”
I turned the handle slowly.
“Door’s always open for you.”
He gave one small nod.
I forced a calm smile, the kind that concealed everything and revealed nothing — then turned and walked away from Yannis’s room.
I closed the door softly behind me.
The click of the latch felt heavier than it should have.
Instead of heading straight to the guest suite assigned to me, I deliberately took the long route — moving through the glass-walled balcony that overlooked the rear gardens.
I needed space.
I needed perspective.
Moonlight poured over the marble tiles, washing the estate in a pale silver glow.
I slowed my steps.
Not casually — observantly.
My eyes tracked upward first.
Cameras.
Too many.
Black domes tucked discreetly into the corners of the ceiling beams.
Tiny pinhole lenses embedded in decorative light fixtures. Motion sensors positioned along the balcony pillars. Infrared indicators blinking faint red like silent watchers.
Ruslan had always been paranoid.
Now I understood why.
He was a man who expected betrayal.