Epilogue II
LYRA
“Mama. Mama! Look.”
“I’m looking, baby.”
“It’s a purple fish.”
“Oh. That’s my favorite kind of fish.”
Marius beams up at me from the plush rug in my office. He’s a little over two now, his curls the color of my hair, his eyes looking more and more like his father’s by the day. He’s holding up a crayon drawing that could be a fish or a small, purple submarine. Either is excellent.
He goes back to drawing with the focused intensity of someone who’s expecting his art to be displayed. And he’s right—it will be.
Two years. Two years since the warehouse, since the wedding, since my baby was born.
I’m the chair of the Irina Volkov Foundation now. Elena formally retired last spring—though retired in her world means that she still calls me twice a week with advice or a line on a new potential donor.
Julian still runs Volkov Industries. The Bratva has long since been restructured, the Pacific corridor deal still in place and bringing in more money than any of us know what to do with. Everything is simple now—practically running on its own.
The office door opens and Anya walks in with cookies. She’s six months pregnant and absolutely glowing. She and Ethan eloped to city hall last November, which I still haven’t fully processed.
“Sorry I’m late, traffic was freaking apocalyptic—”
Laura Volkov appears at the doorway, cutting Anya off. She has lost weight in the way illness takes it. Her cheeks are hollow and her hair is shorter, streaked with silver that she once would’ve spent thousands to cover up. She’s wearing an expensive wool coat and a cashmere scarf.
Anya freezes. Her hand finds Marius and she instinctively pulls him behind her.
“Mom.”
“Anya, I’m sorry. I need to speak with—”
“What are you doing here?” Anya’s voice carries an edge of anger that I’ve rarely heard.
“Please. Ten minutes. Please.”
I press the intercom. “Marie. Get Julian and Ethan. Now.”
Julian arrives first in the way he always does when I call for him—fast and silent, his hand in his jacket in case there’s an imminent threat. He sees Laura and his hand drops.
“Laura.”
“Julian.”
“How did you get in this building?”
“The front door. I told them my name.”
Ethan appears a few seconds later, armed and assessing. When he sees we are all unharmed, he relaxes a bit. Anya hands Marius to him. Marius—who adores his Uncle Ethan—immediately starts patting Ethan’s face.
“Sit down, Laura,” I say.
She does. Julian moves behind my chair and places his hand on my shoulder.
“Speak.”
Laura takes a deep breath.
“I… I have Stage 3 ovarian cancer.”
The room goes still and quiet.
"I was diagnosed in Lisbon eight months ago. I've been paying for treatment in cash, but the cash is running out, and the treatment isn't working because the clinics can't access the treatments I need."
She sounds like she has rehearsed this speech multiple times before. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking for the medical insurance my marriage to your father entitled me to so I can get treatment. So I can, if it works, live a few more years. That’s all.”
She pauses, her gaze flicking to Anya for just a moment.
“And if these are indeed my final years, I would like to spend them around my daughter. At least in the same city.”
Julian says nothing. This is my call.
“Did you have any part in Alexander’s plot?”
“No.”
“Look at me when you answer.”
She raises her eyes to mine. “No. I swear. I knew he was planning something, but I didn’t know what, or to what extent.
I swear on Dmitri’s grave. Lyra, I was a vain, cruel woman who treated you horribly and raised a son who did the same.
But I didn’t know about the coup. And when I found out, I panicked. I was scared. So I ran.”
Silence follows, long and heavy.
Julian’s hand on my shoulder is warm and grounding. He’s waiting, giving me the final say.
I look at Laura, this woman who has been so cruel to me, who told me that she would make me pay if I tried to worm my way into her family. Now, she’s the one standing on the outside.
But then I think of Mama, who told me never to hold onto hate.
I think about it for a few beats. And then I make my decision.
“Alright, Laura. You can come back, but under certain conditions. You’ll be admitted to long-term care under the Foundation’s medical patronage, and you will stay in a Foundation-owned apartment near the hospital.
Ethan will handle security. You don’t attend family events without permission, and you don’t contact my son without permission.
You don’t speak to the press—ever. And when you can, you volunteer at the literacy program in the Bronx.
You owe a debt, and you’re going to pay it. ”
“Yes,” Laura sobs. “Yes, to all of it.”
She looks at Anya, whose expression suggests she’s not quite sure what to make of her mother’s return.
“Laura, I want you to know that this isn’t forgiveness. This is humanity, and they’re not the same. Understand?”
“Y–yes.”
“Good.”
She looks at Julian, then at my son in Ethan’s arms. Her gaze then falls on Anya’s belly.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Alexander was a terrible influence on me. But I was a terrible influence on him first.”
Anya sighs. “Come on, Mom.”
Laura’s face lights up a little bit at her daughter’s words. Whatever Anya decides to do is her call.
Ethan nods to Julian, then hands a sleepy Marius over to him. He gives us a look that says I’ll keep you both posted, then leaves.
Julian places Marius on the couch, where he curls up, eyes closing, purple fish-slash submarine drawing close at hand.
He sits on the edge of my desk and looks at me for a long moment.
"You are an extraordinary woman, Lyra Volkov."
"I know."
"I would have sent her away with nothing."
"I know that, too."
He pulls me out of the chair and into his arms. His other hand drops without thinking to my stomach.
I place my hand over his, then smile broadly at him.
He looks down, then looks back up.
"Lyra."
"Julian."
"Are you—"
"Yes."
"How long—"
"Eleven weeks. I wanted to be sure before I told you."
He drops to his knees, just like he did the first time, and presses his forehead to my stomach. Then he wraps his arms around me and holds on tight.
Marius stirs on the couch, opening his eyes, then sliding off and toddling over, hugging his father.
"Hug."
I laugh, happy tears beginning to make their way down my cheeks, while Julian laughs against my belly. I kneel down with him, and we pull Marius between us. The three of us—soon to be four—sit in the late afternoon light, with the city humming below and the future opening above.
I built this.
And I get to keep it.
The End