Chapter 29 Mila
Mila
Papa sits in the chair beside my bed, looking older than I’ve ever seen him.
His eyes are still swollen from the beating Novikov’s men gave him. Dark purple bruises cover his face and neck. When he shifts his weight, trying to find a comfortable position, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You should take your pain medication,” I suggest.
He grunts and replies, “I will in a bit.”
The memory of Orlov showing up last night makes heat crawl up my neck.
Alexei and I were still tangled on the couch—naked, sated—when the good doctor knocked, apologizing for forgetting to leave dosing instructions for Papa’s meds. Something about anti-inflammatories and sedatives that couldn’t wait until morning. We hadn’t answered the phone, so he’d come in person.
It was the most mortifying five minutes of my life, scrambling to look decent while Orlov pretended he didn’t hear a thing.
“How are you feeling?” Papa asks, mercifully unaware of my embarrassment.
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
“Dr. Orlov says your blood pressure is still too high. You need to take better care of yourself, Mila.”
I turn my head on the pillow to look at him. “I could say the same to you.”
He chuckles, then winces at the pain it causes. “Fair point.”
“Thank you,” he finally offers. “For convincing Alexei to come after me. I know what it cost.”
“Three men died because I pushed for that rescue.”
“Three men died because Maxim Novikov is a monster who thought he could use me as bait. Don’t take on guilt for his choices.”
I’ve heard variations of this from everyone. Alexei. Dr. Orlov. Even the guards who accompanied us to the warehouse. But hearing it from Papa somehow carries more weight.
“Their families lost someone they loved.”
“And my family didn’t lose me. Both things are true, Mila. You can acknowledge the cost without drowning in guilt over outcomes you couldn’t control.”
I close my eyes and try to absorb his words. Try to believe them instead of just hearing them.
“Your mother used to say something similar,” he continues. “After difficult operations that went wrong. She’d remind me that we can grieve losses without taking responsibility for every variable we couldn’t predict.”
The mention of Mama makes my chest clench. I haven’t spoken to her once since she left us months ago.
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she abandoned us. She walked out when we needed her most and never looked back.”
Papa adjusts himself in his chair again, and the movement makes him grunt with pain. “That’s not entirely accurate.”
“She left right after Irina’s pregnancy came out. Right when the family was falling apart. How is that not abandonment?”
“She left because the stress was killing her. She had panic attacks so severe that the doctors thought she was having heart attacks. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. The violence and constant threats broke something inside her that couldn’t be fixed.”
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I’ve never heard this version of events. Never knew Mama was that sick.
“She could have told me.”
“She tried. You refused to see her after the first week. Refused to take her calls or read her letters.”
The words sting because they’re true. When Mama first left, she reached out constantly. Called every day. Sent emails. Even tried to visit. And I turned her away every time because I was furious that she chose herself over her family.
“She gave up pretty quickly if she was so concerned about me.”
“She didn’t give up. She’s still trying. You’re the one who keeps blocking her attempts.”
I turn my head to look at him again, and a tear trickles down the side of my face, disappearing into my hair. “Why are you defending her? She left you, too.”
“I understand why she left. This world destroys people who aren’t built for it. Your mother tried for twenty-five years to be someone she wasn’t. To live with violence and fear as constants. Eventually, that effort consumed her.”
“So, she just gets a pass? She gets to walk away while the rest of us deal with the consequences?”
Papa reaches for my hand. “I’m not saying she gets a pass. I’m saying she made a choice to save her life. And being angry at her for choosing survival doesn’t help anyone. Least of all you.”
“I have every right to be angry.”
“You do. But holding onto that anger takes energy you need for other things right now. Like taking care of yourself and your baby.”
I pull my hand away and cross my arms over my chest. “This is different from what Mama went through.”
“Is it? You’re pregnant. Dealing with constant threats. Watching men die because of decisions made to protect your family. How is that different?”
The parallel makes something twist in my stomach. He’s right. I’m following the same path Mama walked that led her to a breaking point where leaving was the only option she could see.
“I’m not going to leave,” I tell him. “That’s the difference.”
“I hope not. But despite all my insistence that you take advantage of this situation with Alexei, I would understand if you did. Choosing yourself doesn’t make you weak or selfish. Sometimes it’s the bravest choice you can make.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. “When did you become so understanding? You tried to make me marry Alexei instead of finishing school, for crying out loud.”
He takes a deep breath and replies, “I almost died, Mila. And when I was sitting in that chair, holding onto my life with everything I had inside me, I realized how much time I’ve wasted on anger and resentment instead of love and forgiveness.”
He says it so simply. Like nearly getting killed gave him clarity about what matters.
I’ve never heard Papa take responsibility for anything related to Mama’s departure. He always made it sound like she was weak. Like she failed some test of loyalty that the rest of us passed.
“I don’t know if I can forgive her yet.”
“You don’t have to forgive her today, but you should at least talk to her and let her explain. Give yourself a chance to understand her perspective before you decide whether the relationship is worth salvaging.”
“What if I talk to her and I’m still angry?”
“Then you’re still angry, but at least you’ll have tried. At least you won’t look back in ten years and wonder if you threw away a relationship that could have been healed.”
I think about Mama’s last email. I deleted it without reading a week ago. It’s probably similar to all the others I’ve ignored for months.
We’re both quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice carries regret I’ve never heard.
“I could have chosen her, you know. I thought this world was more important than one person’s comfort. I thought strength meant pushing through fear instead of acknowledging it. I was wrong about a lot of things, Mila. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
“Thinking that love means sacrifice without boundaries. Believing that family loyalty requires accepting whatever situation you’re placed in without question. Assuming that the people who leave are weak instead of recognizing that sometimes leaving takes more courage than staying.”
Each statement feels like a lesson he’s learned too late to apply to his life. Like he’s trying to give me the wisdom he wishes he’d had twenty-five years ago.
“Do you regret marrying her?”
“Never. But I regret how I failed her as a husband. How I prioritized everything except her happiness and well-being. If I could do it over, I’d make very different choices.”
“Like what?”
“Like listening when she told me she was scared. Finding ways to protect her from the worst parts of my work instead of expecting her to just accept it, or putting her needs first instead of always putting the family’s needs first.”
I think about Alexei, and how he’s tried to protect me. How every decision he makes factors in my safety and the baby’s well-being. How he risked everything to rescue Papa, even though it put him at odds with his organization.
“Alexei does that,” I say quietly. “Puts me first. Sometimes, I hate it, because it feels like control. But maybe he’s just trying not to make the same mistakes you made.”
“Then he’s smarter than I was at his age.”
“Or maybe he just loves me more than you loved Mama.”
Papa flinches, but he nods. “I loved your mother, but I loved my position and my pride more. And that’s what destroyed us.”
The honesty in his voice makes tears spill down my cheeks. I’ve been so angry at Mama for leaving that I never considered Papa’s role in driving her away.
“I’ve been awful to her,” I whisper.
“You were hurt. People do cruel things when they’re hurt. And now, you get to decide if you want to keep punishing her or if you want to rebuild something.”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know how to stop being angry.”
“You can start by acknowledging that her leaving wasn’t about you.
It was about her survival. Then, you decide if understanding that changes how you feel.
When you become a mother, you’ll understand things about your mother that don’t make sense right now.
You’ll understand how loving your child can coexist with being overwhelmed by the responsibility.
How you can want the best for them while also recognizing you might not be capable of providing it. ”
“Are you saying Mama didn’t love us enough to stay?”
“I’m saying she loved you enough to leave before the stress destroyed her. Before she became someone who couldn’t mother anyone because she was too broken to function.”
The distinction feels important. The difference between abandoning your children and removing yourself from a situation that’s making it impossible to be a good mother.
“I need to think about this.”
“Take all the time you need. But don’t take so long that you lose the chance to heal this relationship. Life is short. Shorter than you realize when you’re young.”
He stands carefully and leans down to kiss my forehead. “Get some rest. Let your body heal. And when you’re ready, call your mother. She’ll answer. She’s been waiting for months.”
After he leaves, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything.
Maybe Papa’s right. Maybe holding onto this rage takes energy I need for other things.
Like preparing to become a mother.
Papa’s right about one thing. I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder if I threw away a relationship that could have been saved.
I need to make peace with my past before I can build my future.