4. Maksim #2
Daniel is careful and focused, watching everything I do and mimicking it with surprising precision.
“Can I ride him?” he asks hopefully when Ranger is saddled.
“Not today. You’re still too small.” I see the disappointment on his face and change tactics. “But I can take you up with me. Would you like that?”
He nods enthusiastically, and I lift him into the saddle before swinging up behind him. He’s tiny in front of me, barely taking up any space, and I have to adjust my grip on the reins to make sure I don’t crowd him.
We ride slowly around the paddock. Daniel is tense at first, gripping the saddle horn with white knuckles. But gradually he relaxes, leaning back slightly against my chest.
“This is amazing,” he whispers, and I can hear the awe in his voice.
We circle the paddock twice before I notice Aria watching from the upstairs window. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her posture. She’s pressing close to the glass like she’s afraid we’ll disappear.
“Your mother is watching,” I tell Daniel.
He immediately twists in the saddle to look up at the house.
When he spots her, he waves enthusiastically.
She waves back, and even from here I can see her wiping at her eyes.
“She’s crying again,” Daniel says, his voice small, his face falling.
“Sometimes people cry when they’re happy,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure that’s what’s happening. “She’s probably glad you’re having fun.”
“Are we really not going back?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the sound of Ranger’s hooves on the packed earth. “To Philadelphia?”
“No.” I keep my voice gentle. “This is your home now.”
Daniel sighs. “I miss Mrs. Li. And the gallery. And my school.”
Guilt twists in my gut. I’ve ripped him away from everything familiar to him. But what choice did I have? Let Aria keep him in poverty? Let my son continue to suffer when I could give him everything?
“I know this is hard,” I say. “Everything is new and scary. But it’ll get easier. I promise.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns back to look at the path ahead. But I feel him relax against me again, accepting my promise even if he doesn’t fully believe it.
Progress. I’ll take it.
That afternoon, we work in the garden.
The estate has a vegetable garden near the greenhouse.
It was something my mother loved to do, and after she died I kept it up.
Even though the growing season has just begun, there’s already produce to be picked.
Daniel kneels in the dirt beside me, his hands muddy and his face serious as I show him how to pull up the ripe baby carrots.
He works carefully, making sure not to damage the roots.
“We grew tomatoes once,” he says suddenly. “In our apartment. On the fire escape.”
I still, wanting to learn more about his life prior to me discovering him. “Did they grow well?”
“Two of them did. The rest died.” He pulls up another carrot and sets it in the basket. “Mama said the fire escape didn’t get enough sun.”
I think about their cramped apartment, the narrow fire escape probably shaded by taller buildings. Aria trying to grow food because they couldn’t afford to buy enough. The two tomatoes that actually grew probably felt like a victory.
“You can grow anything you want here,” I tell him. “There’s plenty of space and sun.”
He nods, considering. “Maybe strawberries. I like strawberries, but they’re too expensive.”
My heart clenches at that statement and I force down the rising anger. He couldn’t even have his favorite fruit regularly. I make a mental note to tell the gardener to buy as many strawberry seeds as possible. If Daniel wants strawberries, he can have them.
“We’ll plant strawberries then,” I tell him. “As many as you want. Then Mrs. Ivanova will make you her strawberry shortcake. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
His face lights up and that fleeting expression of joy feels like I’ve just won the lottery. But then the wariness returns. “Really?”
“Really.” I ruffle his hair, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. “You can have anything you want, Daniel. That’s what it means to be home.”
He goes back to pulling carrots, but I catch him glancing at me every few minutes like he’s trying to decide if he can trust these promises.
Later, when we’re washing our hands at the outdoor spigot, he asks, “Why do you and Mama fight so much?”
I should have expected this question and prepared an answer, but I’m caught off guard by the directness of it. Nikolai would be delighted by him.
“We disagree about some things,” I say carefully. “Adult things that are complicated.”
“About me?” he asks timidly.
“No.” I crouch down so we’re eye level and tip his chin up so he looks at me. “Never about you. We both love you very much. We just…we have different ideas about what’s best for you.”
“Mama thought what was best was Philadelphia.”
I dip my chin in confirmation. “Yes. And I think what’s best is here.” I pause. “Do you like it here?”
He considers this seriously, his muddy hands still under the running water. “The food is good and I have so many toys. And the pool. I like Ranger a lot.” Another pause. “But I miss Mama being happy.”
God, this kid knows just how to make me feel like a piece of shit.
“She’ll be happy again,” I promise, even though I’m not sure it’s true. “She just needs time to adjust.”
“Do you love her?” The question is abrupt, those gray eyes boring into mine.
My heart nearly gives out from the shock of that question.
Truth.
I owe him truth, even when it’s complicated.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
Daniel’s brows knit together. “But you’re mad at her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
How do I explain to him that his mother kept him from me for seven years and let him suffer when one phone call would have changed everything?
That I’m furious and heartbroken and still somehow in love with her?
“Because she made choices I don’t agree with,” I say finally, sighing as I finish washing my hands. “Choices that hurt both of us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”
He nods slowly, processing. “Mama says you’re dangerous.”
“I know.” He already told me that earlier, but it is clearly something he’s still thinking about. I turn off the water and hand him a towel. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”
He studies me for a long moment, and I hold my breath waiting for his answer.
“I don’t know yet,” he says finally and my stomach curdles at that. “You haven’t hurt me. Or Mama.” He kicks a pebble. “But Mama is scared, so maybe you’re dangerous to other people.”
Ah, smart boy. Too smart for his own good.
“I can be dangerous,” I admit. “But not to my family. Never to my family.”
“Are we your family now?” he asks cautiously, looking up at me through his fringe.
“Yes,” I tell him firmly. “You are. You always have been, even when I didn’t know you existed.”
He seems to accept this, and we walk back to the house in companionable silence.
My barber Nikita comes to the estate on the fifth morning. Daniel’s hair has gotten too long and it’s falling into his eyes.
The ends are uneven like they were cut with kitchen scissors. Which, now that I think about it, they probably were.
When I mention it to Aria, her face goes tight. “I always cut his hair,” she says coolly.
“And now someone else can.” I keep my voice level. “Nikita is good. I’ve used him for fifteen years. He won’t hurt him.”
She flushes. “That’s not the point—”
“Mama.” Daniel looks up from the puzzle he’s working on. “I want a haircut.”
Aria’s mouth opens then closes.
I can see her struggling with her desire to argue but not wanting to do it in front of Daniel. Finally, she nods stiffly.
Nikita sets up in the sitting room with a towel and his scissors.
Daniel climbs into the chair, and Nikita asks the question he asks every client. “How do you want it cut?”
Daniel doesn’t hesitate. He points directly at me. “Like that.”
The world stops.
Like mine.
He wants his hair cut like mine.
Not just short or neat—specifically like his father’s.
My throat closes.
I turn away slightly, pretending to look at something on my phone while I get my emotions under control. It’s such a small thing but it feels enormous.
When I glance at Aria, her face has gone white before her lips twist like she’s tasted something sour. But she swallows it down, her hands clenched in her lap, and says nothing.
Nikita gets to work. The scissors snip steadily, dark hair falling to the towel. Daniel sits very still, watching in the mirror Nikita has propped up.
When it’s done—neat and short, styled with a slight part on the left exactly like mine—I have to take a step back.
It’s like looking at a photograph of myself as a child. The same cut emphasizes the sharp Sokolov cheekbones, the strong brow, the aristocratic bone structure that’s unmistakably Russian.
Without the longer hair softening his features, Daniel looks less like Aria and more like every Sokolov man I’ve ever known.
Aria has gone very quiet. Her eyes slide between Daniel and me, back and forth, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
She’s finally understanding that there’s no denying this child is mine. Every line of his face screams Sokolov heritage.
“What do you think?” Daniel asks, turning in the chair to look at me. His voice is anxious and uncertain. “Do you like it?”
I crouch down so we’re eye level and my eyes burn. “You look very handsome,” I manage. “Very grown up.”
His face lights up with that rare smile, and I have to look away again before he sees how much this affects me.
“You do look handsome, sweetheart,” Aria adds, her voice carefully controlled. She reaches out to touch his newly cut hair, and I see her hand trembling slightly. “Very handsome.”
Daniel grins and runs to look at himself properly in the bathroom mirror. The moment he’s gone, the tension in the room becomes suffocating. Nikita notices and he quickly cleans up and is out the door.
Aria stares at me, and I stare back. Neither of us says what we’re both thinking—that our son just chose to look like me. That he’s claiming his place in this family. There’s no going back from this.
Finally, she looks away.