Chapter 35
Mia
The sun is barely peeking through the curtains when Katya pushes open my bedroom door without knocking.
I groan and pull the duvet over my head.
“Oh, don’t even try to play coy,” she says. I inch the covers down until her smirk comes into view, arms folded like the older sister I never had but somehow got. “You’re glowing. And your hair’s a mess. Where’s your worse half, by the way?”
I peek out, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “He left early. Work,” I lie.
She raises a brow. “He’s unemployed, and do you both really think that his sneaking out of here after staying the night, making the bed creak, goes unnoticed?”
“We’re just testing the springs on your mattress,” I deadpan.
She tosses a pillow at me. “You two are sickening. It’s beautiful, but sickening.”
I throw the pillow back at her, and she tumbles into bed with me, laughing.
Her phone rings then and she groans, pulls it out of her pocket.
And just like that, the air changes.
Katya answers, her voice tentative. Then sharp. Then shaking.
I sit up, the world slowing around me.
“She’s fevered.” After she ends the call, Katya can barely get the words out. “Respiratory failure, they think. They’re moving her to the onsite hospice.”
I grip her hand, and we both look at the door when it opens.
“I got donuts from—” Aiden holds up a bakery bag and freezes. “What’s wrong?”
“Anya,” I whisper.
Katya is sitting, shell-shocked, as if she doesn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other.
“Okay. You take care of her, and I’ll make calls to get more information.” Aiden is looking at Katya, and his expression is grim. “Once you’re ready, I’ll drive you there.”
I nod and help Katya stand. She looks at me, dazed.
I call out to Aiden as he’s leaving, “Anya is at—”
“Maple Glen Assisted Living Facility,” Aiden finishes. “I know, baby. Now go get ready.”
He doesn’t ask what we need. He just takes care of everything.
While Katya and I are trying to form full thoughts, Aiden has already called the facility, spoken to the nurse manager, and arranged for a hospice liaison to meet us.
Without asking us questions, without interfering with our silence, he helps pack bags—a change of clothes, snacks, water, phone chargers, and Anya’s paperwork.
Katya and I sit in the back of Aiden’s car, holding each other. He drives quietly. No music, no nothing.
Maple Glen is bright and well-kept, as always, but there’s a weight to the halls now, a deep stillness—or maybe it’s just us who feel it.
Anya has been moved to a quieter wing, closer to the nurses’ station, where they provide hospice care.
Aiden holds the door open for us, his hand steady on the small of my back. That’s when I realize I’m shaking.
Inside, Anya lies in a hospital bed, slightly elevated, oxygen cannula in her nose, her hands folded on a soft blanket patterned with yellow roses.
The nurse greets us gently. “She’s comfortable. Her breathing is shallow, but her vitals are stable for now.”
Katya collapses into the chair beside the bed, her hand grasping her mother’s. “Hi, Mama. It’s me.”
Anya stirs, eyes fluttering, and she manages a whisper: “Katyenka…Mia.”
I sit on the other side of the bed, tears spilling before I can catch them. “We’re here.”
And for a moment—just a breath—she’s lucid. Her eyes, cloudy but still warm, meet ours. She smiles.
And then…she’s gone again.
Her eyes drift closed, her breathing raspier now. But we keep talking to her anyway. Telling her stories. Singing softly. Holding her hand.
Aiden handles everything.
He speaks to the nurse when Katya can’t form sentences.
When a form needs signing, he takes care of it.
When we forget to eat, he brings soup and snacks.
He makes sure we stay hydrated.
He makes calls to the hospice care coordinator.
He calls Cristiano, who’s out of town in Dallas, and Cristiano promises to be back on the next flight.
He calls the funeral home so they are on standby.
When Katya breaks down in the hallway, he sits on the floor with her, holding her.
Katya and I take turns going to the bathroom and walking the hallways.
Aiden is always there, a hand on the back, a hug, a cup of coffee, a bottle of water.
Hours pass.
Anya doesn’t wake again.
Just before midnight, with a final breath that sounds more like a sigh, she slips away.
Katya makes a soft, animalistic sound.
I wrap my arms around her. My heart feels cleaved open.
I loved this woman. She was a mother to me when mine was gone. I’d clung to her when my parents passed away and in the early years of my marriage. She always gave me the best advice, always found time for me, and never made me feel like I was an orphan.
Aiden kneels beside us, wrapping his arms around both Katya and me.
“She’s with Ivan now,” Aiden tells Katya, who bobs her head as she weeps. “They’re together. He’ll take care of her.”
The nurse confirms the time of death. Aiden thanks her, which is a good thing because we’re both crumpled, broken.
“Do you think she knew we were here?” Katya whimpers.
“She knew you were here,” Aiden assures her gently.
We stay until they take Anya’s body away. Katya insists on following her mother. Aiden goes with her.
I sit alone in the quiet room for a moment, the ghost of lavender oil and old roses lingering in the air.
When he comes back, he kneels in front of me again, takes my hands in his.
“How is she?” I ask.
“Not great. She’s in the chapel. She wanted some time alone.”
I nod, and give out a watery laugh. “She isn’t even religious.”
“This isn’t about religion,” he murmurs. “It’s about faith.”
“There’s so much to do now, and….” Tears stream down my face. I can’t stop them. Oh, God, but this hurts. Even though we knew it was coming, the wound it struck is deep, bleeding, painful.
“You don’t have to do a thing,” he promises. “I’ll take care of everything.”