AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I brought the cup to my lips, my hands shaking so much that I nearly spilled it. Memories from last night flooded back: shaky breaths, heated hands, stolen kisses, and lustful eyes. My grip tightened around the cup, the hot liquid burning my skin. As Volk’s words echoed in my mind, each revelation felt like a blow to my heart. I held myself together until he finished, then ran to my room, collapsed on the floor, and let the shock wash over me.
An innocent child had died because of me. Because of my very existence.
I closed my eyes, trying to cling to fragmented childhood memories—papa running around, hugging me tight, tickling my neck, telling jokes. But doubt crept in. Were these real memories or just my imagination? Was it normal to forget so much of your past? Our sudden move to the U.S. had uprooted me, erasing many memories as I struggled to adapt. Yet, I should recall some things.
As Dasha cried, her shoulders shaking with sobs, I felt a pang of pity. Despite my anger and sense of betrayal, she had been a constant presence in my life. But I couldn’t let emotions cloud my judgment. I needed answers to the million questions running in my head.
“Why can’t Igor know the truth?” I asked, recalling Volk’s cryptic words. He had insisted Igor must remain in the dark but hinted he would eventually uncover everything.
Dasha looked up at me, her eyes swollen. “Because he’ll never forgive me,” she whispered. “And he’ll never forgive you either.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Forgive me for what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Dasha hesitated, biting her lip. “It’s not about what you’ve done,” she said finally. “It’s who you are.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Dasha shook her head and buried her face in her hands, sobbing again. I knew I wouldn’t get more answers from her, at least not now. But I was still determined to find out the truth.
Minutes passed as she wept. When she finally calmed down, she looked up at me, her skin dull.
“Answer me, Dasha,” I urged, my fear growing.
“Because Igor would kill you,” she whispered, gripping my hand tightly as another sob escaped.
I gasped. “You knew this whole time and still left me to face him, knowing what he’ll do to me once he finds out the truth?” A silent scream of pain escaped me, my hand covering my mouth. “Why won’t you help me? Why won’t you do something to get me out of here?”
“I can’t do anything more, Sofiya. The moment he sees me, he’ll kill me,” she sobbed. “I’m okay with that. But Sofiya, you have to survive. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
My eyes widened. “I can’t believe it. You’re just waiting to be sacrificed. It’s like you’re already dead inside!” She’s not even fighting for herself. “Dasha, you can’t just sit here and let him do this to you.”
But she looked at me with hollow eyes, resigned to her fate. “I’m sorry, Sofiya. I wish things were different, but they’re not. I can’t change them. And I’m not willing to risk your life for mine.”
“It’s not just about me. It’s about you, too. You deserve to live, Dasha.”
She shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. “I’m not throwing my life away, Sofiya. I’m giving it up for something greater. For a cause worth dying for.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “And what cause is that?”
“The cause of peace,” she said quietly. “The cause of justice. I’ve done many horrible things in my life. It’s time I paid for my mistakes.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “But I won’t let him take you down with me. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”
“What else did you do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I killed my father,” she said, meeting my gaze.
I gasped. “What?”
With a trembling voice, she continued, “When I turned nineteen and needed a job, I approached Victoria, your birth mother. I heard that Igor’s wife felt lonely in their large manor and wanted a maid for companionship, so I applied.” My heart ached at the mention of Victoria. “When I got home, I prepared my father’s favorite meal—a medium-rare steak with baked potatoes and tartar sauce. I wanted him to have a perfect last meal.”
“Last meal?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes. I took his life that night.” She moved to my chair, took my now-cold tea, and sipped. “My father was cruel,” she continued. “He abused my mother severely for minor reasons. Once, she forgot to check his mail, and he beat her so badly she couldn’t walk for days. My sister and I, aged three and six, had to handle all the household tasks.”
Oh, Dasha…
“My mother didn’t know he abused us too. Many nights, he would come into our room and commit terrible acts. It began when I was eight. He would take turns between us, subjecting one of us to his actions one night, and the other the next. I would pretend to sleep and hear my sister crying, wishing for his death.”
Silent tears fell as I stood motionless, my heart aching. I couldn’t imagine the trauma she and her sister endured. She looked at me with a sorrowful gaze, sensing my pain.
