Chapter Seventeen
Maro n
Earlier that day
After another sad jerkoff session in the shower, I make my way to my wardrobe.
It’s time to get your shit together, Korolev.
I change into a pair of elegant trousers and a crisp white linen shirt. Today, I am heading to Willow Heights. It’s the elementary school I decided to sponsor a while back. I’ve been giving them generous donations for months now and they’ve been nothing but grateful for my support. They even invited me to their school event called ‘Story Night’, which is tonight.
"This event never could have happened without your generosity, Mr. Korolev," Mrs. West, the school principal, had said. "It’s going to mean the world to many of our children, and we’d love for you to be there, celebrating with us."
At first, I wasn’t sure about saying yes. After all, I’m living in incognito and I rarely show my face in public. Besides, me at a school event? I’d stand out like a sore thumb. There aren’t many six-and-a-half-foot-tall, tattooed dads in audiences like these. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the kids needed therapy after seeing me staring at them from the crowd.
But then again, supporting a struggling elementary school is a cause that’s been close to my fucked-up heart ever since my daughter, Cordelia, died. Many special-needs children attend Willow Heights, and the school looks after them well. Contributing to their efforts with some cash makes me feel like I’m doing something meaningful with my life besides just jerking off to Mindy’s memory and managing Bratva-related shit from the shadows.
Turning a corner on my way to the garage, I almost collide with Timofey, who’s just stepped out of our mother’s suite. I pull up short, cursing under my breath.
"How’s Mom doing today?" I ask him.
Timofey yawns and shrugs. "As good as she can, bratok . Same old, repetitive shit."
I give my brother a pointed look. "Little respect, Timo."
"Okay, okay," he relents. "You know how she is. She still brings up Cordelia one hundred and fifty-two times a day. Sometimes, I wonder if she even remembers that she still has two sons."
"She had a stepson too." It’s out before I can stop it.
"Who, Maurice?" Timofey asks. "That was seven years ago, Maron. And it’s probably best that Mom doesn’t remember him."
Timofey has a point. It’s probably best that way. My mother has lost enough. A few years after losing my father, she lost her beloved granddaughter. I don’t know if she could bear the thought of losing Maurice too. Despite the fact that they were not related by blood, she loved him like he was her own.
Fucking Maurice. Even after all this time, his memory still haunts us. After I got shot at the Tramoxine launch party, he was also taken to the hospital - but with alcohol poisoning. I only know what Timofey told me once I woke up from my coma, weeks after being shot.
That was the last time we heard from Maurice. When we tried to get information about him from the hospital, we hit a wall. We were told the strangest fucking thing: that the patient had denied access to any information about his condition or whereabouts. Just like that, Maurice had vanished from our lives.
I thought a lot about finding him after that. I even called in a few favors from some of my old contacts in the Bratva, but I always got the same information: he’s either dead or doesn’t want to be found.
Eventually, I decided to give up on pursuing him. I accepted the fact that he was gone. I know I could have found him if I really wanted to, but I decided not to. Our relationship was screwed up, to say the least, and he knew that. Even if he’s still alive and out there somewhere, he has good reason to stay out of my sight.
"Time flies, bratok , " Timofey says. "And Mom was in a much better condition back then. Now… she’s just a shell of her old self." He sighs. "I just wish she could have some joy in her life. This isn’t living, this is barely existing."
"I know, Timo." I clench my jaw. I fucking hate this feeling of helplessness when it comes to my mother. "What else can we do to provide for her?"
"Absolutely fucking nothing, dear brother." He looks at me carefully. "Let’s talk about something else. What’s up with the fancy outfit? New date?" He stops for a moment. "Or perhaps… Mindy?"
"Absolutely not," I reply casually. "I’ve been invited to a school event."
Timofey's brow furrows in confusion, "A school event? You? What are you planning to do there, give the children nightmares? Set a negative example?"
"Watch it, pridurok ." I fix him with a stare.
Timofey grins. "Seriously, Maron. Who would invite you to a school event and why?"
"The principal," I tell him casually. "I donated a bunch of money, so they invited me."
My brother’s expression shifts and he whistles in admiration, "Look at you, bratok . From Bratva boss to humanitarian." He slaps my shoulder. "I’m proud of you, dickhead."
" Spasibo , Timo." I smirk and glance at my watch. I have less than thirty minutes before the event starts, so I really need to get going if I want to make it on time.
I quickly say goodbye to my brother and head down to the garage. I jump into the first car I can find and turn on the ignition. The engine roars to life, the garage gate opens, and a few moments later, I’m pulling into traffic.
The road is almost empty on my way to town. Everyone is trying to get out of the city, not into it. It takes me just over fifteen minutes to pull into the school’s parking lot.
"Mr. Korolev," Mrs. West, the school principal, greets me with a warm smile as I enter the building. "Thank you so much for coming to our little event."
"Pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. West," I return the gesture, feeling strange about being here. I’m still not sure what the fuck I’m doing at an elementary school, but there’s no turning back now.
Mrs. West’s eyes shine with gratitude as she leads me to my seat. "I have no words to express how much your generosity means to us, Mr. Korolev.”
I nod, feeling a twinge of satisfaction in knowing that my money is being used for a decent cause.
Mrs. West glances at her watch, then back at me with an excited grin. “I hate to cut our conversation short, but the storytelling portion of the event is about to begin. Some of our students will be taking the stage to share their original stories. I hope you can stay with us the whole evening, Mr. Korolev."
I feel a surge of anticipation. "I haven’t planned anything else for tonight, Mrs. West."
As I sit in the audience, watching the kids take their turns on stage and trying to stay as invisible as I possibly can, it’s hard not to feel bored. This is not exactly my idea of a thrilling evening. But then again, what else would I be doing tonight? Thinking about Mindy and jerking off in the shower? At least I’m spending my time with something that makes sense.
After a few children have told their stories, I’m itching to take a break. The room is stuffy, and sitting on my ass all this time feels suffocating. Just as I’m about to get up and go outside for some fresh air, something catches my attention. The next kid to step on the stage is a beautiful little girl with golden hair and an angelic face. Her big blue eyes are wide as she stares down at the audience in front of her.
I strain in my seat to get a better sight.
As she stands there, her eyes wide and her lips trembling, it becomes clear that something’s not right. The seconds continue to pass, but the girl remains silent. Then, a young woman, possibly one of the teachers, approaches the stage and whispers something to her.
"Go ahead, Sharon. Share your story with us," she encourages in a slightly louder voice.
Still, the girl does not respond. She simply stands there, unmoving. The audience begins to grow restless, with some of the children squirming in their seats.
Sitting next to me, Mrs. West leans over. "Sharon has selective mutism. She may need some time."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"She only speaks to certain people," Mrs. West says. "In her case, it’s her mother, her nanny, and her class teacher."
"What about the other kids in her class?" I murmur.
Mrs. West shakes her head slightly. "She doesn’t talk to them."
I'm taken aback by this information. I’ve never heard of selective mutism before.
"That’s why we put her on stage," Mrs. West explains, "to help her overcome her fear of speaking."
The girl is still mute. She just stands there, staring at the audience. This time, another young woman steps forward and whispers something in the little girl's ear.
"That’s Sharon's nanny," Mrs. West adds with a hint of relief in her voice.
The nanny’s quiet words seem to do the trick because the little girl visibly relaxes. She sets her jaw and her gaze shifts upwards, towards something above the audience. And then, almost imperceptibly at first, her lips start moving.
"Once upon a time,” she starts, “in a cozy den nestled in the heart of the forest, there lived a mother fox and her seven little fox cubs…" Her voice is low at first, but as she begins to weave her tale, the entire room falls silent, hanging on her every word.
I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me, but I can't take my eyes off of her. Those bright blue eyes, cascading golden locks, and the small gap where her front tooth should be, paired with the difficulty she has in speaking, stirs up something unrecognizable in me. A strange feeling of familiarity. Something about her that I can’t put a finger on.
I continue to study her intently until it hits me: this girl reminds me of the daughter I lost. In fact, she bears such a striking resemblance to Cordelia, it’s almost unbelievable.
I feel like a donkey kicked me in the chest. Like I’m being transported back in time, reliving the memories I buried a long time ago.
Pride.
Love.
Loss.
An intense longing for someone who is no longer with me.
It’s the sound of applause that finally snaps me back into reality. I grunt and quickly wipe away a stray tear that had escaped the corner of my eye.
What the fuck, Korolev?
Mrs. West gives me a side-eye, like she noticed something, but I pretend to ignore her. We all leap to our feet, cheering and clapping for Sharon, this brave little girl who overcame her fears and told us a story.
"Well done, Sharon!" someone calls out, and I can see joy and pride shining in her eyes as she beams at the crowd.
As the event comes to an end and the audience begins to disperse, I find myself lingering in the auditorium, lost in thought, thinking about my late daughter, and trying to understand why that little girl had such an impact on me earlier. Eventually, I decide to go to the refreshment area for a foul-tasting vending machine coffee and a sandwich. The caffeine is a poor substitute for the vodka I'm craving, but it’ll have to do.
Taking the cup from the machine, I find a quiet corner and settle in it, watching the mingling crowd of proud parents, excited children, and tired-looking teachers. It’s strange, being in a place like this. A part of me feels like an intruder, another part of me feels oddly at peace. But as I sit here lost in my own thoughts, I see a small shape approaching from the corner of my eye.
It's her. The same little girl from earlier, making her way towards me with confident strides. I take another sip of coffee, feeling her curious gaze fixed on me. Sure enough, she comes up to me and stops right in front of me.
I stare back at her, waiting for something to happen. She gives me a shy smile. Her missing front tooth makes me grin back involuntarily. She shifts from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to say something but unsure how to begin.
Jesus, she’s so fucking sweet.
And she looks so much like Cordelia.
As the little girl stands before me with those big blue eyes trained on my face, I’m struck once again by a strong sense of déjà vu. It's not just her resemblance to my late daughter; there's something else about her that I can't quite pinpoint.
Something feels familiar about her. Like I’ve known this child for my entire life. Which is impossible, of course. She’s just a random stranger to me. A stranger staring at me, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
"Hello," I say to her, breaking the awkward silence. "Are you okay?"
She simply nods, her big blue eyes locked onto mine.
"What’s your name?" I ask, having no clue where this is going. How do you talk to a six-year-old strange child anyway?
"Sharon," she whispers.
"That’s a beautiful name," I reply.
I receive another charming, gap-toothed smile. "Whose dad are you?" she asks.
"No one’s," I clarify. "I’m just a visitor. I came to listen to your stories."
"Did you listen to mine?"
"I did," I confirm, leaning back slightly. "You did well, Sharon. That little fox, Finn, was very brave."
Sharon’s face lights up. "You remembered his name!"
"Sure thing, kiddo," I grin.
Sharon changes the subject. "I almost didn’t make it here today," she says.
"Why is that?" I inquire, and I’m genuinely curious. I’m really starting to like this kid.
"I was afraid. But my mom told me I’m the best storyteller she knows."
"Your mom seems very wise," I comment. "Where is she now?"
"She’s at work," Sharon responds with a sigh. "She’s also telling a story, and we're a team."
I don’t know what that means, but I nod. "So, Sharon, who did you come to this event with?" I inquire.
"Tania," Sharon replies, pointing towards her young nanny nearby, chatting animatedly with Mrs. West.
I hesitate for a moment before giving in to my curiosity. "And your dad?"
"I don’t have a dad," Sharon states matter-of-factly, still smiling brightly. "Mommy says he’s watching over us from heaven." She speaks of this as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Blyad.
I immediately know what that means, and I swear, my fucking heart aches for this girl. "I bet your dad is very proud of you right now, Sharon."
Sharon beams at me. "You think so?"
"That’s right, kiddo." I nod, surprised at how much my words mean to her. "Want to know a secret?"
She nods eagerly.
"When I was your age, I used to be scared of talking in front of people, too. You know what helped me?"
Her big blue eyes widen like saucers. "What?" she asks.
"I imagined that everyone in the audience was a friendly forest animal. Just like in your story."
Sharon giggles, the sound warming something inside me that’s gone cold a long time ago. "That’s silly!"
"Maybe." I grin. "Give it a try next time, see if it works."
"Okay!" she declares, then looks over her shoulder.
Her young nanny approaches, her eyes shifting between Sharon and me. She’s an attractive woman in her early twenties, with luscious dark hair and a kind face. But as she approaches us, there’s caution in her demeanor.
"There you are, sweetie," she addresses Sharon before glancing at me. "I hope she wasn’t bothering you, sir."
"Not at all." I stand up, towering over the two of them. "We were just discussing her story. She’s one brave little storyteller."
The woman seems taken aback. "She was… talking to you?" She gazes down at Sharon, who has suddenly become shy again and is hiding behind the woman. "That’s… unusual. She only speaks to a select few people. Right Sharon?"
Sharon nods and looks up at me from behind her nanny.
"Well, we should be on our way now," the nanny says. "Say goodbye, Sharon."
"Bye, Mister," Sharon whispers.
"Bye, Sharon," I reply, pushing down an inexplicable emotion in my voice.
As I watch them walk away, my eyes remain fixed on the little girl for some unknown reason. Before they turn a corner and disappear for good, she turns back one last time to give me a small smile. A moment later, they’re gone.
And me?
I’m left here with a feeling of emptiness I don’t quite understand.