Page 135 of Merciless Daddy

“Damn paperwork.”

“Yelena.”

Her mouth twitched.

“Yes, Daddy.”

She left without another argument.

That was how I knew she needed the rest.

At dinner, Kiryl told us about a book he had read in school. Tonio argued with him about whether the ending was sad. Pietro, seated near the fire, said nothing until Kiryl asked him directly.

“It was sad,” Pietro said.

Tonio pointed his fork. “See?”

“But it was also honest,” Pietro added.

Kiryl considered that.

Yelena looked at her brother with an expression I understood. Pride. Love. Grief for every ordinary evening she had believed her family would never get.

Under the table, I put my hand on her knee.

She placed hers over it.

After Kiryl went to bed, Yelena spent an hour on the rug by the fire with her coloring pencils. She was wearing soft grey pajamas. The scratchy blanket had been pulled around her shoulders.

I sat on the sofa and read while she colored a winter forest in dark greens and silver.

She held up the page.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“The shading is better than yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, a backhanded compliment, thank you.”

“It is a . . . fronthanded compliment, actually.”

“Try again.”

I studied the page.

“You made the trees look cold,” I said. “And you did not make the sky black this time. That is progress.”

Her expression softened.

“Well done, little one.”

She ducked her head. The blanket shifted around her.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

I read to her afterward. The firebird again. My Russian pronunciation was still terrible. She corrected me twice, then gave up and rested against my leg while I continued.

When she went to bed, I waited until her door shut.