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Richard's smile grows. "It's been dropped. Completely dismissed due to a mistrial and allegations of witness tampering against Michael Schwartz."
For a moment, I can't breathe. The implications of this news crash over me like a tidal wave. "But... but that means..."
"Miron is coming home," Richard confirms. "And with the main motivation behind Schwartz's assault no longer in play, Avros's case looks significantly weaker, especially since Schwartz is still in a coma. As long as you're prepared to testify about what happened that night being self-defense, I'd say our chances of getting him released are better than ever."
A strangled sound escapes me. It’s a half laugh, half sob. My knees feel weak, and I sink onto the edge of the bed. "He'scoming home," I whisper, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. "They're both coming home."
Richard's expression softens as he watches me. It's a glimpse of the man behind the sharp suits and sharper legal mind. "You've been good for him, you know," he says quietly. "I've known Avros for years, and I've never seen him like this. He'd burn the world down for you and that baby."
His words bring fresh tears to my eyes, but I blink them back. Now isn't the time for weakness. "What do I need to do?" I ask, squaring my shoulders.
Richard nods approvingly. "Just stick to the story we've rehearsed. Schwartz attacked you, threatened you and your unborn child. Avros was protecting you, nothing more. With Miron's case dismissed, the prosecution's theory of a mob hit falls apart."
I nod, running through the practiced lines in my head. It's not entirely a lie—Schwartz did threaten me. And Avros was protecting me, in his own way. The gray area between truth and falsehood makes my stomach churn, but I push the feeling aside. For Avros, for our family, I'll do what needs to be done.
"When..." I start, then clear my throat. "When will Miron be released?"
"He should be home by this evening," Richard says. "I've already sent a car to pick him up from the prison."
A thrill of excitement and nervousness runs through me. I'm finally going to meet the man who means so much to Avros, the catalyst for so much of what's happened.
"What's he like?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Miron, I mean. Is he... is he like Avros?"
Richard chuckles, a rare sound from the usually stoic lawyer. "Miron? He's... well, he's something else, and far less serious than Avros. Charming, quick-witted. Got a mouth on him that'll make a sailor blush. But loyal to a fault, just like his brother."
I try to picture it, a younger, more carefree version of Avros. The image makes me smile. "I can't wait to meet him," I say softly.
"Well, you won't have to wait long," Richard says, glancing at his watch. "He should be arriving within a few hours. I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Remember, Sydney, stick to the plan. For Avros."
I nod firmly. "For Avros," I echo.
As Richard leaves, I'm left alone with my thoughts once more. The joy of knowing Avros might soon be free battles with the nervousness of meeting Miron and the pressure of my upcoming testimony. I need to do something, anything, to keep my mind occupied until Miron arrives.
I wander out of the bedroom and into Avros's study. It’s our study now, I suppose.
The moment I step into the study, the air changes. It's cooler here, quieter, as though the room itself is holding its breath. The scent of leather and aged paper hangs in the air, thick and comforting, like an embrace from Avros. It wraps around me, and I breathe it in deeply, the familiar smell bringing a sense of calm that contrasts with the whirlwind in my mind.
The walls are lined with bookshelves, towering and imposing, each shelf crammed with volumes that seem to absorb the softglow of the lamp by the desk. I haven’t turned it off since Avros left.
The leather-bound spines are smooth under my fingertips as I trace them along the shelves, their surfaces cool and slightly dusty. I can almost hear the faint rustle of pages as I imagine Avros pulling out one of these books late at night, his fingers sliding over the same covers as he sought out knowledge, plans, or solace.
The desk in the corner is massive, carved from the same wood as the shelves, its surface polished to a sheen that reflects the dim light. The top is cluttered, yet organized in a way that’s distinctly Avros—papers stacked in neat piles, a few open folders revealing handwritten notes, and an expensive fountain pen lying just within reach. The scent of ink lingers faintly, sharp and metallic, blending with the richness of the leather to create an aroma that feels distinctly his.
The chair behind the desk is deep and worn, the leather soft from years of use. I can almost picture him sitting there, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration, the quiet creak of the chair as he leaned back in thought with a cigar in his hand.
The memory makes me smile, even as a pang of longing twists in my chest. I miss him. Every inch of this room reminds me of him, of the man who once filled this space with his presence, his power, his unwavering dedication to keeping it all together.
I’m almost surprised it hasn’t crumbled to the ground since he left, but he put the right people in charge. He knew what he was doing, and I respect him for that.
I move to the window, the heavy drapes brushing against my arms as I push them aside. Outside, the world is still. The skyis a dull gray, muted and distant, like it, too, is waiting for something. The glass is cold under my palm as I press it to the pane, feeling the chill seep through my skin.
Everything has been colder since Avros left, and now I might finally be getting him back. I won’t believe it fully until he’s actually home, though. I feel like I can’t trust anyone but him.
A soft creak of the floorboards echoes beneath my feet as I step back from the window. The old wooden floor is polished but uneven, its age evident in the way it groans with every shift of weight. There’s a warmth to it, though, the kind that only comes from years of being walked on, lived in. It feels solid, grounding me in a way that nothing else has today.
On his desk, a framed photo catches my eye. It's Avros and Miron as children, arms slung around each other's shoulders, identical grins on their faces. The sight makes my heart clench. I pick up the frame, studying the young faces of the men who will shape my child's future.
"Your daddy and uncle were quite the troublemakers, I bet," I mutter to my belly, a small smile playing on my lips. "I hope you inherit their spirit, little one. Just... maybe with a bit less of the dangerous stuff, okay?"
