chapter 23

ANA

I drag myself out of the car, my feet heavy as lead as I make my way to the graveyard behind the gated fence. Every step feels like I’m wading through thick mud, weighed down by the endless tears I’ve cried and the hollow ache in my chest. I don’t even know how I made it here, but somehow, I keep moving.

I push open the gate with trembling fingers and let my legs carry me to the headstone. The graveyard is quiet, almost untouched, the few bodies buried here belonging to people connected to my family. It’s a private place, away from the world.

It’s where my father buried my mother. Every year since I was two, he brought me here to visit her.

“Mamochka.” I fall to my knees, letting my body crumble in front of her grave. The tears spill freely now, rolling down my cheeks as my shaking hands brush the dirt off the headstone.

Maria Petrov. Mother and Wife. Gone, but never forgotten.

I trace the letters with my fingertips, as if touching her name might somehow bring her closer to me.

“Mom.” My voice cracks, choking on the lump of sorrow lodged in my throat. “I wish you were here. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Papa won’t see me. He’s avoiding mebecause of what he made me do—because of this marriage to Dmitri Orlov.”

The sobs rack my body again, my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath.

“I’m alone,Mamochka. Completely alone, and I don’t know what to do. If you were here, maybe everything would be different. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so...trapped.”

I press my forehead against the cold marble of her grave, feeling the icy stone against my burning skin. “It’s not fair,” I cry, my voice barely above a whisper. “I never asked for this. I never wanted this life. But I’m stuck in it. I’m a prisoner, and no one cares.”

The sobs tear through me, leaving me shaking as I curl up against the gravestone, wishing more than anything that my mother could reach through the earth and hold me, comfort me the way only a mother could.

“I miss you so much, Mom,” I whisper into the silence, my voice dissolving into raw, broken weeping. “Please...if you can hear me, send me something. A sign. Anything. I just need you.”

But the air remains still, the weight of my grief too much to bear.

By the timeI get back home, it feels like I’ve been hollowed out. The grief still clings to me like a second skin, making every movement feel like I’m dragging an anchor behind me. I barely make it through the door before Yelena’s voice reaches me.

“Anastasia?” Her tone shifts from light to concerned as soon as she catches sight of me. She rushes over, her face full of worry. “What happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

I try to speak, but my throat is too tight, my emotions too raw. My legs buckle beneath me, the strength drained from my body.

“Yelena...” I choke on her name, tears blurring my vision again.

Before I collapse completely, she’s there, holding me tight, her arms wrapping around me like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, guiding me to the couch. “You don’t have to say anything yet. Just sit down and breathe.”

I can barely catch my breath, but Yelena’s voice is calm and steady, just what I need right now.

“In and out,” she whispers. “Just breathe. You’re safe here.”

I follow her instructions, taking shaky breaths until the weight on my chest lifts just enough to let me speak. When the worst of it passes, I tell her everything—the memories of my mom, the annual visits to her grave, how my father has refused to see me, and how it feels like I’ve been abandoned by the one person who should always support me.

“He wasn’t there today,” I say, my voice breaking. “He’s never missed any of her death anniversaries. I don’t know what to do anymore, Yelena. It’s like I’m drowning, and there’s no one to pull me out.”

Yelena shakes her head, squeezing my hand. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay? I might’ve just gotten here, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m pretty good at offering shoulders to cry on.” She offers a small smile. “I even give out discounts for extended use.”

I let out a weak laugh, the sound more of a broken sob. “Oh yeah? And what’s your rate?”

She grins, her eyes lighting up with warmth. “One hug per day should cover it.”

I reach out, pulling her into a hug. “You’re a much better deal than anything else I’ve got going.”

We sit in silence for a while, Yelena’s presence a balm for the raw ache in my chest. When I finally pull away, I head to my room to take a nap, hoping that sleep will numb the pain for a little while. But as soon as I sit down, alone again, the grief rushes back. My hands shake as I run them through my hair, the weight of everything pressing down on me all over again.

I step into the bathroom, needing something—anything—to wash away the feeling. The hot water from the shower beats against my skin, but it doesn’t do enough to drown out the sadness that clings to me.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I step out of the bathroom—and freeze.

Dmitri is standing by the door, his eyes widening the second he sees me.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles with tension, and I realize with horror that I’m standing here, wet, in nothing but a towel.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Yelena told me you weren’t feeling well. I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I bite out, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to cover the vulnerability I feel.

He takes a step forward, his expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “I know about your mother’s death anniversary.”

I shrug, turning away from him. “So? That doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

But Dmitri doesn’t move. “I’m not here to offer empty sympathy, Ana. I just?—”

“Just what?” I spin around, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Just want to ease your guilt? I don’t need it. I don’t needyou.”

“Ana—” he starts, his voice low, but I cut him off.

“Please, Dmitri,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Not today. I can’t deal with this. Not now.”

He stands there for a moment, watching me as I turn my back on him, retreating to my closet to find something to wear. But then, I feel his presence behind me, and before I can say anything, his arms wrap around me, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

My first instinct is to push him away, but I don’t. The warmth of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest, it all feels too much like the comfort I’ve been craving.

He turns me to face him, and I sob against his chest, my body shaking as he holds me tighter, refusing to let go.

“Take it out on me,” he says softly. “Hit me. Scream at me. But don’t keep it in, Ana. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

I finally try to push him away, but my strength is gone. All I can do is cling to him, the man I’ve spent months resenting, as the sobs rack my body.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

For the first time in a long while, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not as alone as I thought. When I calm down somewhat, I open my eyes, realizing that my fingers are digging into his arms. I loosen the grip, and the red marks I left behind make me gasp.