3. Aria #3
“He’s had enough to eat,” I say defensively. It was enough, but then he started going through a growth spurt and…
“Bullshit.” He moves toward me and I back up instinctively.
“I’ve seen the photos, Aria. I’ve watched him eat charity food and food bank boxes.
I’ve seen him go days with barely anything except the shit food they give him at school.
” His voice rises. “He’s hoarding food in his pockets like he’s fucking Oliver Twist. That doesn’t happen unless a child has learned what hunger feels like. ”
“I did my best.” My voice is shaking. “I worked every hour I could. I gave him everything I had.”
“It wasn’t enough!” The words explode from him. “Your best wasn’t enough, and you were too proud and stubborn to ask for help.” He holds up one thick finger. “One phone call, Aria. One fucking phone call to me, and he would have had everything he needed.”
“I wasn’t calling you.” My own rage rises to meet his. “I wasn’t bringing him into your world.”
“So instead you let him starve.” He’s moving around the sofa now, coming toward me. “You let him wear clothes with holes. You let him learn to hoard food like he can’t trust where his next meal is coming from. You let my son—our son—suffer because of your pride.”
I flush. “It wasn’t pride—”
“Then what was it?” He’s right in front of me now, his gray eyes flashing. “What possible reason could you have for letting a child go hungry? For watching him get thinner and thinner and not doing anything about it?”
“I was protecting him!” The words tear from my throat. “I was keeping him safe from you—”
“Safe?” His laugh is harsh and bitter. “You call that safe? He’s seven fucking years old and he knows what it feels like to be hungry.
He hoards food in his pockets. He eats like every meal might be his last.” His voice drops and becomes deadly quiet.
“That’s not safety, Aria. That’s survival.
And children shouldn’t have to survive their own childhoods. ”
Hitting me would have hurt more.
Each word lands where it hurts most because they’re true.
All of it is true.
“You think you protected him?” Maksim continues, relentless, speaking everything I’ve already thought of myself. “You didn’t. You failed him. You failed to provide for him. You failed to give him the basic necessities a child needs. You failed as a mother.”
My hand moves before I can think.
The slap cracks across his face with a sound that echoes through the room, and his head snaps to the side.
For a moment, neither of us breathes.
“Don’t you dare.” My voice is shaking with rage along with shame and guilt.
“Don’t you dare judge me. I kept him alive.
I kept him safe. I worked myself to exhaustion to give him everything I could.
So what if it wasn’t enough? So what if I couldn’t give him luxury and plenty?
He had love. He had me. And he didn’t have to grow up around violence and murder and—”
“And what?” Maksim turns back to me, and his eyes are empty and cold. The red mark blooms on his cheek. “Say it, Aria. He didn’t have to grow up around what?”
“Around a monster,” I snap, now wanting to hurt him the way he hurt me. “Around you.”
Silence falls and it’s suffocating.
“A monster,” he repeats softly. My brain bleats at me that this is dangerous territory, but I ignore it.
“Yes.” I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand.
“I saw what you are. I saw the darkness. And I won’t apologize for protecting our child from it.
Maybe he went hungry sometimes. Maybe we struggled.
But at least he’s not—” My voice breaks but I push forward.
“At least he’s not growing up to be like you. ”
Rage and hurt quickly cross his face before he masks it. “What exactly did you see, Aria? What was so terrible that it justified letting our son starve?”
“I’m not discussing this.” I try to move past him, but he blocks me with his body.
“What. Did. You. See?” he grits out.
“Not now.” I push against his hard chest, but he doesn’t budge. “Not ever.”
“You will tell me.” His voice is ice. “Because I’m done being patient and letting you keep secrets. You owe me the truth.”
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. “I owe you nothing.” I shove him again harder. “Get away from me.”
For a moment, I think he’ll push back and force the answer from me.
But then he steps aside, and I stumble past him.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he says to my back. “Not by a long shot.”
He walks out, and the door closes behind him. I hear the lock engage.
I’m alone in the beautiful cage with my son in the next room, and I’m shaking so hard I have to sit down before I collapse.
He’s right. About everything.
Daniel has suffered because of my choices. Daniel’s gone hungry. He’s lived in poverty all because I was too scared to reach out.
I was terrified of what Maksim is to give Daniel what he deserved.
I’ve failed as a mother.
I’ve failed to protect Daniel from suffering, even if I succeeded in keeping him from violence.
Now we’re here, in this prison, with the monster I ran from eight years ago.
And there’s no escape.