Chapter 31 Mila
Mila
It takes fifteen hours of thinking before I get the nerve to pick up my phone. My finger hovers over the call button for ten minutes before I finally press it.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Maybe she won’t answer. Maybe this is a sign that I should—
“Mila?” Mama’s voice cracks on my name.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. All the rehearsed words I prepared vanish.
“Mila, are you there?”
“I’m here.” My voice sounds foreign, small and uncertain in ways I haven’t felt since childhood.
She lets out a shaky breath. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever call. After all this time.”
“Papa suggested I should at least read your emails. I dug out the last one you found from my trash.”
“You read it?”
“Three times.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “You said you know what’s happening with the Kozlov alliance.”
“I have contacts. People who keep me informed when my daughters are in danger.” Her voice drops lower. “The reports I’m getting terrify me.”
I walk to the wall and rest my head against the bunker’s concrete. “Then you understand why I couldn’t just pick up the phone and chat like nothing happened.”
“I understand you’re drowning in the same world that nearly killed me. And I’m furious with myself for not being there to help you through it.”
“You left. You don’t get to be furious about the consequences of your choices.”
The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t take them back.
“You’re right. I left. I made a choice to save myself instead of staying to watch my family destroy itself. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
I press my palm against the rough surface. “If you regret it so much, why didn’t you come back? Why did you let months pass without fighting harder to fix things?”
“I knew if I came back, nothing would change. Your father would still be making deals with dangerous people. Irina would still be making choices that put the family at risk. And I would still be the woman having panic attacks in the bathroom while pretending everything was fine.”
“You just gave up on us.”
“I gave up on pretending I could survive in that environment.”
I turn away from the wall and start walking in circles. “Is there? Giving up on the environment meant giving up on your daughters.”
“I never gave up on you or Irina. I gave up on the fantasy that love could protect us from the violence your father chose as a lifestyle.”
“He didn’t choose violence as a lifestyle. He was born into this world, just like I was.”
“And he could have left. Made different choices. Protected his family instead of using us as justification for his business dealings.”
The accusation makes my stomach lurch. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is expecting me to destroy myself for a man who prioritized power over his wife’s mental health. But we’re both learning that fairness doesn’t exist in that world.”
I sink onto the bed. “Why are you being so harsh about Papa? He nearly died trying to maintain the alliances you’re criticizing.”
“Because I spent twenty-five years making excuses for his choices. Convincing myself that the violence was necessary and that the threats were unavoidable. That if I just tried harder to adapt, everything would work out.” She pauses. “I was wrong about all of it.”
“So, you want me to believe Papa is the villain?”
“There are no heroes in that world, just people making impossible choices and calling it family obligation.”
I pull my knees to my chest. “You called him once. After you left. I heard you on the phone telling him you still loved him despite everything.”
“Love and compatibility aren’t the same thing. I loved your father. I still do in some ways, but loving him meant watching him walk into danger repeatedly while I sat home terrified that he wouldn’t come back. That’s not a sustainable way to live.”
“Yet you expect me to just abandon Alexei? To walk away from the father of my child because you couldn’t handle the stress?”
The quiet on the other end stretches so long I wonder if the connection dropped.
“You’re pregnant,” she finally whispers. Not a question. A statement.
I close my eyes. “Papa told you?”
“He mentioned you were dealing with health complications. I assumed it was stress-related, but pregnancy makes more sense given the timeline.”
“How did you know the timeline?”
“Because I pay attention to everything involving my daughters. Even when you won’t speak to me. Especially when you won’t speak to me.” Her voice softens. “How far along?”
“About nine weeks.”
“And how are you feeling? Any morning sickness? Fatigue?”
The mundane questions catch me off-guard. After the harsh words about Papa and the life he chose, suddenly she’s asking about pregnancy symptoms like we’re having a normal mother-daughter conversation.
“Some nausea. Dr. Orlov is monitoring my blood pressure because it’s been elevated.”
“Elevated blood pressure at nine weeks isn’t normal. That’s stress, Mila. Your body is telling you something important.”
“My body is adjusting to pregnancy in difficult circumstances. That’s all.”
“Or your body is responding the way mine did. The way it always does when gentle people try to survive in violent environments.”
I open my eyes and blow out a long breath through pursed lips. “I’m not you.”
“No. You’re stronger than I ever was, and more capable of setting boundaries. But that doesn’t make you immune to the same patterns that destroyed my health.”
“What do you want from me?” I snap. Acknowledgment that you were right to leave? Permission to feel good about abandoning your family?”
“I want you to consider whether the life you’re building will sustain you long-term. Whether love for Alexei is enough to overcome constant danger and threat. Whether you’re willing to raise a child in an environment where violence is inevitable.”
“Those aren’t questions with simple answers.”
“No, they’re not. But they’re questions you need to ask yourself before you’re so deeply committed that leaving becomes impossible.”
I stand and start taking more laps around the room. “You’re assuming I want to leave. Or that I’m looking for permission or validation to walk away.”
“Are you?”
“No. I’m looking for my mother to support my choices instead of questioning them.”
“Even if those choices are leading you down the exact path that nearly killed me?”
“My path is different from yours.”
“How? You’re pregnant with a criminal’s baby and living in hiding because enemies want to use you as leverage. Dealing with health complications caused by stress that your body can’t process. That sounds identical to my experience twenty-three years ago.”
The comparison makes anger flare in my chest. “The difference is that I’m not running. I’m not abandoning everyone who needs me because the situation got difficult.”
“You think I ran because things got difficult?” Her voice rises with frustration. “I left because staying meant dying. My body was shutting down from panic attacks. Watching your father come home bloody one more time would have pushed me past any ability to recover.”
“And you couldn’t have told me that? Couldn’t have explained before you just disappeared?”
“You were twenty-three years old and furious with Irina for destroying the Kozlov alliance. You were convinced our family’s problems were her fault. How was I supposed to tell you I was falling apart when you were already dealing with so much?”
“By being honest and trusting me to understand instead of protecting me from uncomfortable truths.”
“You’re right, I should have been honest and given you credit for being strong enough to handle my weakness. But I was drowning, and you were already underwater trying to save everyone else. I couldn’t add my weight to that burden.”
I stop pacing and lean against the wall. “So, you left me to figure everything out alone.”
“I left you to survive without watching me deteriorate. Without having to take care of me on top of everything else falling apart. Was that selfish? Absolutely. But it was the only choice I could see at the time.”
We fall into an uncomfortable quiet. I can hear her breathing and sense the desperation in her waiting for my response.
“I need you to understand something,” I finally tell her. “I’m not asking for your approval of my choices. I’m not seeking validation or permission. I called because Papa suggested I should at least hear your explanation before cutting you out of my life for good.”
“And now that you’ve heard it?”
“Now, I need time to process whether your explanation changes anything. Whether understanding your reasons makes the abandonment hurt less.”
“That’s more than fair.” She draws a shaky breath. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends on the question.”
“Do you love him? Alexei. Do you love him, or are you staying because the pregnancy makes leaving complicated?”
I think about Alexei sitting beside my hospital bed. Cooking my grandmother’s borscht. The way he looks at me like I’m something precious instead of an obligation.
“I love him in ways that terrify me and make me question everything I thought I wanted from life.”
“Then I’m terrified for you. Because loving dangerous men in that world means accepting that any day could be the last time you see them. Every goodbye might be permanent. Your children might grow up without a father because violence is built into every aspect of that life.”
“I know the risks.”
“Knowing and experiencing are different. I knew the risks when I married your father. But experiencing them year after year until they eroded everything inside me was something else.”
“What do you want me to say, Mama? That I’ll abandon the man I love and raise this baby alone somewhere safe and boring? Is that what would make you feel better about your choices?”
“I want you to promise me you’ll recognize when it becomes too much, and choose yourself and your child before the stress destroys your health the way it destroyed mine.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not you. My relationship with Alexei is different from what you had with Papa, and I refuse to accept that leaving is inevitable just because you couldn’t find another way.”
She makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. “You sound exactly like I did at your age. Convinced that love would be enough. That your situation was different, and that you were stronger than the circumstances.”
“Maybe I am.”
“I genuinely hope you’re right and I’m wrong about everything. But if I’m not—if you reach the breaking point where staying means losing yourself—I’ll be here. No judgment. No conditions. Just support for whatever choice you make.”
Tears slide down my face until my cheeks are soaked and my breathing is ragged. “I don’t know if I can trust that. After months of you being absent, how do I know you’ll be there when I need you?”
“I’ve given you no reason to trust my promises. All I can offer is my commitment to trying, and showing up repeatedly until you believe I’m not disappearing again. You’re my daughter, and I love you, even if that love looks different from what either of us expected.”
My phone dings with an incoming text. Probably Alexei checking on me. Or Dr. Orlov with reminders about prenatal vitamins. Either way, it’s the perfect excuse to end this so I can breathe and think.
“I need to go,” I tell Mama.
“Will you call again?” she asks, sounding almost frantic. “Let me know how you’re doing?”
“Maybe. When I’m ready to talk again. After I’ve had time to sort through everything you’ve said.”
“That’s enough. That’s more than I deserve.”
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for explaining and being honest even when it made you look bad. I might not agree with your choices, but at least now I understand them better.”
“That’s all I can ask for. Take care of yourself, Mila. And take care of my grandchild.”
We say our goodbyes, and I end the call. The phone falls from my hand onto the bed beside me. I lie there staring at nothing and trying to process the tangle of emotions the conversation created.
Understanding doesn’t equal forgiveness, but maybe it’s a start.