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“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”
? Maya Angelou
Sofiya
“I brought you some fresh clothes,” she said softly, holding up the bundle in her hands.
I muttered into my pillow, motioning for her to join me on the bed.
Sunlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle warmth across my skin.
The rain had finally stopped, leaving a quiet calm in the room.
Pulling the covers closer, I tried to ward off the lingering chill that seemed to seep into my bones.
Sleep had evaded me all night.
I had fled Volk’s bedroom in a whirlwind of shame and regret after giving in to him, after letting him have me despite everything he had done.
I didn’t want him to witness my emotional collapse, so I ran. I knew it was my fault—I had begged him to have sex with me.
After nearly dying, I needed to feel connected, to feel warmth, and I was grateful that he had helped me feel good.
But I was ashamed.
Ashamed that I needed him so desperately, that despite everything he had done, my heart still called out his name.
I tossed and turned for hours, part of me wishing he were there to hold me tight.
But reality hit hard.
Today was the day of my death, and Volk played a role in this mess.
Dasha approached with clothes in hand, sinking the mattress slightly as she sat beside me.
Without a word, she reached out, touching my arm gently, offering silent support.
I met her gaze with a faint smile.
Words felt insufficient in that moment to convey the depth of my pain.
Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words ever could.
As her eyes softened, I could tell that Dasha understood the ache in my heart.
Tears welled up despite my efforts to hold them back, streaming down my cheeks.
She didn’t offer false optimism; instead, she simply held my hand in hers.
“You need to get ready,” she said softly, brushing my hair away from my face. Her touch was comforting, familiar—like home. “Igor will be here by dinner time.”
Cupping her cheek gently, I asked, “Are you scared?”
She nodded faintly, vulnerability shining through.
Without hesitation, she pulled me close, holding me tight.
“I love you, Sofiya,” she whispered, her voice filled with love and concern. “I’m sorry for everything.”
