30. Aurora
30
AURORA
The rich, earthy aroma of Daria's cream of mushroom soup warms me from the inside out. Comfort food is exactly what I need while Ruslan is out there risking everything.
Vera sits next to me, one hand absently stroking her swollen belly as she sips from her spoon.
"This is delicious," I say, grateful for the distraction. "Daria really outdid herself."
Vera nods, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "That woman is incredible. I don't think there's a recipe that she hasn't been able to replic?—"
Before Vera can finish, a blood-curdling scream suddenly rips through the house, slicing through our peaceful moment like a knife.
High, desperate, and unmistakably Mikayla's.
My spoon clatters against the table as I leap to my feet, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. The twins flutter anxiously in my belly, responding to the surge of adrenaline flooding my system.
"Was that—" Vera struggles to rise, her heavily pregnant body making quick movements impossible.
"Stay here," I command, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. The terror in Mikayla's scream sends ice through my veins. "Please, don't try to move."
Daria rushes toward the door, but I catch her arm. "Daria, stay with Vera." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "I'll check on Mikayla."
The marble floors feel cold beneath my feet as I race through the corridor. My mind spins with terrible possibilities. Has Semyon sent more men? Is Kristofer here? Did Tamara betray us after all?
Another scream—this one choked and desperate—pushes me to move faster.
"Mikayla!" I call out, following the sound to the stairs.
I take them as quickly as my pregnant body allows, gripping the banister for support. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. If anything happens to any of the girls, Ruslan will never forgive himself.
I'll never forgive myself.
That's when I hear a new sound emerge from the direction of Mikayla's room.
Crying.
The kind of gut-wrenching sobs that only come from profound grief.
"Mikayla! What's wrong?"
She's curled against her headboard, knees pulled tight to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her phone lies face up on the floor where she must have dropped it.
When she sees me, her face crumples.
"Aurora!" Her voice breaks on my name, her whole body shaking.
I rush to her side, wrapping my arms around her trembling shoulders. "I'm here. What happened? Tell me."
But she can't form the words. Her breaths come in shallow gasps, her fingers digging into my arms as she points toward her phone. Tears stream down her face, and I recognize the wild, haunted look in her eyes.
It's the same one I've seen it in my own mirror too many times to count for seven years.
"Breathe, Mikayla. Just breathe with me."
While keeping one arm around her, I reach for the phone. The screen is still lit, displaying what looks like a video paused on the first frame.
My stomach drops when I see Kristofer's face, smiling that awful smile I've tried so hard to forget.
And sitting in front of him is…
Oh god!
Tamara, bound to a chair, blood streaming down her face.
"Oh no," I whisper, my fingers trembling as I set the phone face-down. "No, no, no."
Mikayla's breathing accelerates, coming in rapid, shallow gasps that I recognize all too well. The first signs of a panic attack. The same ones that used to overwhelm me in the early days after my family's murder.
"Look at me, Mikayla. Focus on my face." I cup her cheeks, forcing her to meet my eyes.
Movement at the door catches my attention. Vera stands there, one hand on her belly, and Daria is right behind her, both women's faces tight with concern.
"Keep Stella and Sofia in their rooms," I tell them sharply. "No matter what happens, no matter what they hear, they cannot leave. Understand?"
Daria nods immediately, already turning to leave.
"What's happening?" Vera asks, her voice low.
I shake my head slightly. "Just keep the girls away. Please."
I hold Mikayla as her body shakes with sobs. There are no words I can offer that would ease her pain.
I know that better than anyone.
Empty promises would only mock her grief.
"She's gone," Mikayla chokes out between gasps. "She's gone, she's gone, she's gone."
I tighten my arms around her, letting her collapse against me. Her tears soak through my shirt, hot and relentless.
Another scream tears from her throat, raw and ragged as if someone is pulling it out from deep within her soul.
I don't try to quiet her. I remember how that scream needs to escape, how holding it in feels like dying. So I rock her gently, one hand stroking her hair, the other firm against her back, anchoring her to this moment, to me, to something solid while her world shatters.
"I can't—" she gasps. "I can't breathe."
"Yes, you can," I whisper against her hair. "You're breathing right now. Just keep doing that."
Her body convulses with another wave of sobs. I hold on tighter.
"He—" Mikayla's words break apart, her breath hitching so violently I worry she might pass out. "He told me just before he did it..."
She tries again, her voice trembling so hard I have to lean closer to hear.
"Look what your uncle made me do."
Time seems to freeze around us as my vision narrows to a pinpoint.
Those words. Those awful words, the same one that he painted on my parents' living room wall in their blood.
My ears ring. For a moment, I'm back there, staring at crimson letters dripping down the walls.
That monster did to Mikayla what he did to me.
Mikayla's body convulses with another wave of sobs.
"I was so mad at her today," she chokes out between gasps. "When she first arrived, I wouldn't even look at her. I was so angry for all the things she's done." Her voice breaks. "I didn't even say goodbye to her when she left this afternoon."
"But you were still with her before she left," I say firmly, wiping tears from her face even as mine fall freely. "That matters more than anything else in the world right now."
Mikayla's eyes, so swollen and red, search mine. "But I… I didn't—" Her body shakes with another sob. "I didn't even tell her I loved her."
"She knew," I whisper, pulling her close again. "Trust me, Mikayla. She knew."
"You don't understand," she cries, her words muffled against my shoulder. "She tried to hug me, and I turned away. If I had known?—"
"Listen to me, sweetie," I say, cradling her face in my hands. "What matters is that you were there. You still spent time with her today."
The weight of my own memories crushes down on me. The stupid arguments with my mom the morning before she died. The eye roll I gave my dad when he told me to be home in time for dinner. The way I teased my little brother for putting on mismatched socks.
"She loved you enough to come and see the three of you one final time," I continue, my voice thick with tears. "No matter what happened between you, that never changed."
Mikayla collapses against me, her entire body heaving with grief. I can feel the toxic mix of guilt and self-loathing that I know too well radiating from her. It's a poisonous voice whispering that this is somehow something that she could have prevented. That somehow, what that bastard did is her fault.
"And no matter what you want to believe right now, this is not your fault," I whisper into her hair. "It's his. Not yours."
Her tears soak through my shirt as she presses her face harder against my shoulder. I rock her gently, my own tears falling silently onto her head.
* * *
After what feels like hours, Mikayla is no longer sobbing, just crying silently against me.
Her body occasionally shudders with quiet gasps. I keep stroking her hair, remembering how desperately I wished for someone to hold me like this when my own family was murdered.
To tell me that it wasn't my fault.
The floorboards in the hallway creak. I look up to see Ruslan standing in the doorway, his face a mask of grim determination. Blood spatters the collar of his shirt. His eyes meet mine, and in that single glance, I know that he knows.
Something passes between us in that silent moment. A shared understanding of the horror Kristofer has inflicted on his family.
No, not just his family. Our family.
Ruslan walks in quietly and sits beside us on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and Mikayla stiffens against me, sensing his presence. She pulls back from my embrace and wipes tear tracks from her face with trembling fingers, trying to compose herself.
"Where's her body?" she asks, her voice hoarse from screaming.
Ruslan's jaw clenches. "We don't know yet, dorogaya ." His voice is steady but tight with controlled rage. "I've sent Artyom and some men to find her. Once they do, we'll bring her home and give her a proper funeral."
Mikayla nods, her body still shaking slightly. "Will you stay a moment, Uncle Ruslan?"
I watch her rally her strength, trying to be brave despite her world collapsing around her. It breaks my heart to see her this way—trying to be strong when no child should have to be.
Ruslan nods, settling himself on the edge of the bed. I keep my arm around Mikayla, feeling her trembling slowly subside as she draws strength from her uncle's presence.
Just then, Daria appears in the doorway, her usual composure slightly fractured by concern.
"The little ones are in bed," she says softly. "Vera Tikhonovna helped me get them settled."
Her eyes move to Mikayla's tear-stained face.
"What happened?" she asks.
"Later," Ruslan says, his voice carrying a finality that brooks no argument.
Daria takes in the three of us: Mikayla tucked against me, Ruslan rigid with controlled fury, and the visible grief swirling in the room.
She nods once, sharply, and withdraws without another word.
The silence that follows presses down on us.
"Will you tell Stella and Sofia?" Mikayla finally asks, her voice small but steady.
I feel her body tense against mine, bracing for the answer she already knows is coming.
"I have to," Ruslan says gently. "This isn't something I can keep from them forever."
My heart twists at the thought of those two little girls learning their mother is gone. I imagine Sofia's gap-toothed smile dissolving into tears, Stella's tiny hand reaching for someone who will never hold it again.
Fresh tears burn behind my eyes.
"Wait until morning. Please?" Mikayla pleads. "Let them have one more night where she's still alive to them."
One more night of innocence before their world changes forever.
God, I know that feeling. That last night of normal sleep before waking to a life irreversibly changed.
Ruslan nods, understanding etched in the lines of his face. "Is there anything I can bring you?"
Mikayla blinks, and I feel the shift in her immediately. Her body, which had been soft with grief, suddenly goes rigid. Her face transforms, grief hardening into something darker, more primal.
Rage.
"You can bring me his corpse," she says, each word cut from glass. "I want to see his body bloody and broken in front of me. I want him torn apart, limb by limb."
The venom in her voice makes my skin prickle. Our losses may be the same, but our reaction is not. Where I had reacted to Kristofer's evil with fear. Mikayla has chosen anger.
But that which binds both reactions together is the same.
An undeniable hatred.
The same hatred that's lived inside me for seven years. The same hatred that kept me from truly living until I met Ruslan.
I know exactly how it feels to carry that hatred.
And I know exactly what it costs.