38 Falling Apart
THIRTY-EIGHT
Falling Apart
“I’ve been to treatment twice, and I’m still not myself,” I said to Wlad during one of the weeks he came back to Nashville.
About a year after my fancy stint in treatment in Europe, I’d landed a much more standard facility during Nashville’s season four.
The producers had no choice but to write me out of the script temporarily—something that killed me because I’d always prided myself on my professionalism—and I issued a press release about where I was going and why.
My fans and the press were hugely sympathetic—and I’ll always be grateful for that—but a part of my career I’d come to depend on suffered.
Neutrogena canceled my long-standing contract, and it was yet another blow in a year that had given almost nothing else.
“I don’t know what to say,” Wlad answered, firmly screwing on the RBF I’d grown to resent during conversations like this. “I don’t know why you’re so unhappy. We have a nice life. You have a nice life.”
I sighed. “The problem isn’t about what is or isn’t wrong in my life,” I said. “The issue is I have everything I’ve ever wanted—a great job, a baby, friends, you… and yet I’m still unhappy. I have postpartum depression, Wlad, and it sucks.”
“What do you need from me?” he asked.
For once, I didn’t have an answer, so I just stared at him.
Then I broke down and started crying. Wlad and I were at an impossible point.
He’d fallen for my innate happiness and energy, and I wanted more than anything to get back to that place.
But I didn’t even know where that place was anymore, nor did he.
“I want to help,” he answered, looking away because he knew he was about to piss me off. “But it’s up to you. You have to remember the good things like your daughter and your talent. You have to work hard to be happy. Your happiness is a choice.”
“So that means you think my depression is a choice?” I spat back, so angry I couldn’t see straight. “You think I’m choosing this for me and for our daughter?”
Wlad looked down. “I don’t know, monkey, I don’t know. All I know is that you have to be strong to get through this.”
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I could be. I simply didn’t have the energy or the willpower to do anything but get up and go through the motions. I knew it was hurting everyone around me, but I’d hit a wall of negativity, and it was penetrating the fabric of my being.
To make matters worse, I was positive Wlad and I were falling apart.
We were raising a toddler together across two continents, and the distance was too much.
Wlad wanted to be with Kaya in Europe, and I needed her to be with me.
I was tied to a set ten hours a day, ten months a year, and Wlad’s heart, soul, and body were tied to boxing.
Chances were that he’d be retiring soon, too, and what he’d choose to do with his life after that was anyone’s guess.
But I’d bet a million dollars that whatever he did, it would be entirely in Europe.
Just to get all the bad feelings out in the open, I decided to go for the jugular.
“I guess we’re not planning a wedding anymore, are we?” I asked. I still had a ring on my finger, but marriage was a subject that hadn’t come up for months.
Wlad looked down. He didn’t need to say anything because the silence spoke volumes.
Since Kaya was a baby, Wlad and I had split our time between Europe and the US.
If I couldn’t travel because of work, Wlad would take Kaya alone to Germany or Ukraine, and I’d join them as soon as I could.
But because Kaya only had a US passport, the clock was always ticking on her visits.
After ninety days, she had to come home with me.
In 2017, when she was three, Kaya received her Ukrainian passport and traveled to Kyiv with Wlad.
I planned to join them as soon as I had a break from filming Nashville’s last season, and after a short visit, I’d take Kaya back home with me.
Wlad would stay where he was, not because he had to work but because our relationship had faded away along with the miles between us.
I prefer big, explosive breakups rather than slow, painful fizzles, but Wlad’s nature was to take a struggle all the way to the twelfth round.
It was what it was, and there was nothing I could do.
I told myself a broken family was better than no family at all.
I boarded a plane with my dad and a sober coach who had been assigned to me by the Nashville producers.
My relationship with Mom was fractured, though our love and dependence on each other still bubbled underneath every interaction we had.
But I needed as little stress as possible and a solid, unwavering team, and Dad was a help and a comfort.
My depression and anxiety flared up any old time, and with all the pressure and grief that came with seeing Wlad, two people on my side was a whole lot better than one.
After the long transatlantic flight, we landed in Kyiv and made our way to our hotel. I dropped my bags, took a nap, then showered and got ready to see my baby. It had been a few months, and I missed her so much it was like I’d lost my heart and my soul.
Just then my phone started vibrating, and I looked down at it and saw it was Wlad.
“Are you in the lobby?” I asked.
“Close. I’m in the restaurant near the lobby. Please come join me, and we can have a cup of coffee and talk before we go see Kaya.”
“Be right down,” I answered, and within a few minutes, I was facing my ex-partner and the father of my child. Little did I know he was minutes away from ripping my heart out of my chest.
“You’re being weird,” I said after I sat down. “What’s with the crossed arms? I’ve known you since I was nineteen, and I can read you like a book.”
Wlad paused and looked down. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “But I need you to sign these papers.” Wlad slid a stack of papers—translated into both English and Ukrainian—across the table to me.
“What are these?” I asked, laughing. “Should I call my lawyer or something?”
Wlad didn’t smile. I looked closely, and the words I saw on the page might as well have slapped me in the face.
“Are these custody papers?” I whispered, fearing that if I spoke up, I might scream. “Are you suing me for custody of Kaya?”
Wlad nodded his head and looked down again.
“What the heck, Wlad? What is going on?”
“I want full custody,” Wlad answered. “I worry about Kaya when she’s with you.”
My jaw clenched, and my body tensed up like it was about to spring into action.
In a traumatic moment, people either fight, fly, or freeze.
I’ve always been a fighter. I will battle till I’m black and blue for anyone I love, and I will fight like hell for myself.
My daughter was on another level. I would fight until I’m dead for her.
“You have got to be kidding,” I hissed back.
“She has amazing nannies and is surrounded by people who love her. She has friends, and she’s about to start school a year early because of how smart she is and because I made the effort to get her into a great place.
You know as well as I do that I’ve struggled with alcohol, but I have never been drunk and alone with Kaya in my care, ever.
Besides, how can you possibly know what kind of mother I am if you’re not even there? You have no idea what I do every day.”
Wlad looked me straight in the eyes. If it’s possible to feel warmth from someone who’s just ruined your life, that’s what he was going for. “I don’t want to hurt you, but your friends have called me. I’ve talked to your friends about how you’re living your life.”
I felt my stomach turn. “What friends?!” I answered. “Who would say such a thing? And what did they say? They’re lying! Wlad, I am not signing anything.”
But Wlad didn’t flinch. He simply slid the papers across the table as I erupted into tears.