8. I’ll Fix It
I’ll Fix It
I’ve been holding it in. Acting like it doesn’t bother me, when inside it’s clear how much it does. I feed it Obelus, his voice, his screams, and bury it, smother it. The place I’ve always known to hide the things I can’t handle.
I don’t talk about it or ask my family about him. The days are grey, except for the music I’ve always leaned on. Even that feels dimmer, not the unbridled joy I felt the day I got my tickets. The haunting pulse of rejection lingers, dulled but constant.
The techs notice I’ve pulled in tighter, more professional, more removed. Some of the partners even nod approvingly, like this is what good medicine looks like. Emotionless. Still, as the concert creeps closer, something quickens. A flicker of excitement sparks under the hurt, weak but real.
Friday night comes, time for family dinner.
I finish up at the clinic, head out, heart heavy and strangely light at the same time.
A week until The Riven Altar. A week until I stand in the presence of what’s kept me going all these years.
It’s been three weeks since Dominik disappeared, three weeks since that text, and while I never imagined I’d be here, feeling like this…
at least I still have that to hold onto.
I open the door and nearly collapse right there on the mat.
He’s sitting at the table. Dominik, beer on the table beside him, the baby balanced on his knee like this is an average Friday.
Mama catches my face instantly, brows pinching, but I don’t stop to explain.
I drop to kiss her cheek and pivot like I’m leaving before the scent of soup can even hit me.
“Now, siostra,” Piotr calls, smug as hell, “it’s family dinner. Tata hasn’t even come home yet. Sit with us.”
Dominik’s face flickers in panic, realizing I was about to bolt. This whole little plan of his, sitting there, waiting, nearly ruined in a heartbeat. He doesn’t chase. He can’t, not with my nephew in his arms.
“Give him here.” My hands are out before I even think, fury making them steady. It makes me angry to see Dominik holding him, like he belongs when he chose to remove himself, with whoever he decided to spend his time with. Close enough she could use his phone and call me a whore.
And then, footsteps. Lighter, faster. Zosia barrels in from the kitchen, wraps her arms around my legs.
“Auntie Kasia!”
The glare I shoot him could split firewood. Anger, pure and just. Dominik shifts the baby in his arms. “I should go.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Piotr interjects, cutting off any escape. “Everyone stays for dinner.”
Mama’s eyes flick from me to him, instantly clocking the storm brewing.
I see Dominik’s face tighten. He’d planned something, and my almost-exit nearly ruined it.
He looks sheepish, but also desperate, like the whole thing’s teetering.
The table feels like a stage set for a sitcom gone wrong.
Mama bustling, trying to keep busy to avoid the whole situation.
Tata finally comes home but lingers at the stove longer than usual, giving space to something unspoken.
Piotr cracking jokes to lighten the heavy mood.
Natalia perched with her phone out like she’s recording a reality show.
I wedge myself into the farthest corner I can manage, speaking only when spoken to.
Dominik keeps trying to catch my eye; I keep looking at my plate.
Even Zosia seems to sense it, unusually silent, sticking to my side like a little shadow.
By dessert the tension is thick enough to chew. Natalia, never one to let an awkward moment pass, smirks over her glass. “You two do know you’re giving us enough content for a full Netflix series, right? At least a movie. Maybe a book deal.”
Everyone laughs but no one really laughs. Dominik sets down his fork, clears his throat.
“Kasia,” he says, and the whole table freezes. “Would you… talk with me, outside? Five minutes.”
The silence is electric. Mama’s eyes go wide, Tata pretends it’s just another family dinner, full of dramatics like his favorite songs. Piotr grins like he’s about to grab a bag of popcorn. Natalia mutters, “Season finale,” under her breath. My pulse hammers.
Finally, I push my chair back. “Fine. Five minutes.”
Outside, the air is cooler, a relief after the heat inside. Dominik stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking less like the cocky boy I remember and more like a man cornered by his own mistakes.
“She came back,” he says, voice low. “Lena, Zosia's mother. She just showed up. Kicked out by the latest guy she’d moved in with. I…” He swallows.
“We talked. She’s still her mother. It’s not a decision I can take lightly.
I can’t change who her mother is, only if she's raised by us both, as a family.”
The words hit me like small stones, one after another. He keeps going.
“We tried, for a few days, but in the end…
I told her no, sent her to her parents. Said she could still see Zosia, but she won't. She hasn't.
She doesn't care about our daughter, just whoever's in her bed, paying her bills, a place to sleep. I can’t live like that, always wondering when she leaves again, hurts Zosia again.” His eyes lift to mine.
My throat goes tight. “You should have told me. As soon as it happened. I deserved that, at least. Three weeks? Really? You didn’t think to—”
“I know. I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t know how.
Everything I wrote felt like I was ending it with you, and I couldn’t—I didn’t want to.
Then I saw what she’d done. I knew I’d fucked up, that you already knew.
I hadn’t told you first, in the right way.
Then when I tried to call, you’d block—” He breaks off, presses a hand to his face.
“I didn’t think you’d listen if I just showed up. So I asked Piotr to help.”
“Had it only been my heart and not my daughter’s caught in it, I’d have sent her home the first day.
Zosia deserves to have what the other little girls have.
I just…” He exhales bitterly. “I didn’t want her to pay for her Tatu? being selfish.
But I see how Zosia looks at you, too. It’s not just me. ”
Something in me softens at that. Without thinking, I step closer and put my hand on his shoulder.
It’s the first real touch we’ve shared. He looks up at me, eyes bright in the porch light, and covers my hand with his.
Then, slowly, like he’s making a promise to himself as much as to me, he takes my face between his palms.
“I want only you,” he says. “If it was just my choice... I would have never wasted a second on her.”
The words hang between us, fragile and enormous. For a heartbeat the whole world is just his hands on my skin and the possibility in his eyes. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His hands frame my face, rough palms trembling just enough to betray how much he’s holding back, then his mouth is on mine.
Soft at first, gentle. A question. And then the heat blooms, hungry, consuming, a need grown by years we never touched, weeks we just lost, the life that could have been ours if only we’d known how to reach for it.
His kiss feels like he’s trying to collide with every part of me at once, to make up for everything missed, every second stolen.
I taste the years between us, the ache of time wasted, and the ridiculous thought that if things had been different, if we had been different, Zosia might have been ours.
Born of us. Instead of two kids that always seemed to miss each other.
The kiss imagines a world where she came from love we made together, not the fractures we’re trying to mend now.
It breaks me open. I feel it, all of it and so does he. Because when we finally pull apart, he stumbles back like he’s been hit, like whatever just passed between us was too big for one body to hold.
I’m still reeling from the kiss when I stumble back against the door, chest rising like I’ve just run miles.
Dominik looks just as wrecked, eyes glazed, lips parted, like he can’t quite form words.
He steps closer, then falters, pulling back as though afraid to crowd me.
But his hand finds my waist anyway, tentative at first, then firmer when I don’t move away.
His touch burns and cools at once, fingers skimming, restless, like he can’t decide where they belong, but needs to feel me or go crazy from the lack of it.
When he tugs me toward him, I give in, arms winding around his neck.
The air between us collapses. He presses his lips to my collarbone, a trembling path up my throat, across my jaw, back to my mouth, both of us shaking and helpless, unable to stop.
Then Piotr’s hushed voice, right through the screen door.
“Better wrap it up, kids. The parents almost caught you.”
I jolt, laughing breathless against Dominik’s shoulder. He huffs out a laugh too, still clinging to me.
“I’m glad to see it’s all settled,” Piotr adds.
The words knock the smile off my face. Settled? It isn’t settled, not at all, not for me. Dominik sees it instantly. He catches my hand before I can retreat, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. “I know,” he whispers, urgent. “Time. I’ll give it. I’ll fix it. I promise.”
I nod, quick, before the moment can expand too wide and swallow me whole. Then I slip past him, past Piotr, crouching down to hug Zosia. She leans into me, giggling as I kiss her cheeks.
“I have to go home, but I’ll see you soon. Be good for your Tatu?, okay?”
“Okay, Auntie Kasia,” she chirps.
The warmth of her arms around me guts me, because this is the family I always wanted, but never thought I could step into, not with all the demands of my job creeping in.
I stand fast, kiss Mama and Tata on the cheeks before anyone can ask questions, before this can become even more of a spectacle.
My bag swings over my shoulder as I head for the door.
When I glance back, Dominik is standing on my family’s front porch, shoulders squared like he belongs there as he lifts his hand in a small wave.
I'll fix it, he said. Only time will tell if he means it.