“Mommy, will Dad go with me to the school line-up?”
I put the curling iron aside. Dad… it was really a question. I tried to hold on—out of all my strength—not to give away how hard it was for me. Lately, I’d nearly stopped asking myself where my husband disappeared at night. Arthur insisted he was on duty, but it’s hard to fool a woman’s intuition. Especially when the heart still loves. And I loved—in spite of everything, even in the face of the pain he’d caused me. Only today that pain felt different, sharper.
Our Ulya was going into first grade, and the GaiVorontsevs still hadn’t been sleeping at home. The heaviness pressed down so hard that my smile came out strained—just so I wouldn’t spoil the child’s holiday.
There was a knock at the door.
“Mommy, it’s probably Dad! Open up!”
I took a deep breath and went to the door. I swung it open—and barely managed to hold back my disappointment.