Page 44 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

I wanted to believe all that, too. Why else didn’t she come home from her father’s house that night?

Seeing her walking around in shorts, a frilly striped top, and fucking flip-flops crushed the image I had of her in my head. The fantasy I built around my heart shattered in seconds.

“Yes, she got hurt in the magical world,” I answer Violet. “I didn’t know. She’s been sick for a long time.”

“Sick like when I got sick?” she asks, her little brain needing these answers to cope.

“Yes, like when you had that fever,” I say, not wanting to alarm her but to help her understand that her mother needs time. “Mommy needs a few more days to get better. Then you can meet her.”

Violet considers this, showing no sign of how her life changed in the past five minutes.

“Okay,” she says and leans into me again.

With the back of her head pressing against my chest, I fight tears, praying she’s convinced. I lied to this child for years about her mother to avoid the tragic wounds she’d suffer knowing she was gone forever.

Like I had to endure.

But she’s accepted this news and moved on the way children sometimes do with things that would shatter an adult.

Like me.

Then she looks back at me, her eyes scrunched again. “But she knows I’m her baby, right?”

Everything in me goes still. The question, simple and innocent, detonates the calm I managed for a whole thirty seconds. My throat tightens as dark and volatile coils twist in my chest.

Here comes another fucking lie.

“Yes,” I say. “She knows.”

It’s the only answer I can give. It’s the only one Violet deserves. It’s not true right now, but it will be by the time I introduce them.

Violet nods again, satisfied. And I know, deep in my bones, that when Sandrine looks at our daughter, she’ll understand why she can never leave me again.

Even if right now, I’m swimming in anger because I don’t know the truth. But my daughter needs her mother.

“Do you still want your story?” I ask her.

As if nothing happened, Violet gives a small shrug, her attention already drifting to the book on the nearby nightstand. “Can we read the dragon one first?”

“Of course.” I take the book from her, but before I open it, I pull her closer, pressing my lips to the crown of her head, holding her there just one more second.

In a day or two, I’ll no longer have her to myself.

Violet doesn’t question me. To her, this is normal. This is just another night with her father, another moment in a life where I have been her constant, unwavering presence.

As I’m about to read, Violet tilts her head back one more time. “Will Mommy read to me when she’s better?”

The question startles me. What if Sandrine rejects the truth? Will I force an unwilling woman on my daughter?

It sickens me, but the answer is no. Then what the hell do I do with Sandrine?

I could lie again. I could give Violet the same story. Wrap it in something whimsical. But for the first time in five years, I have to bring this lie in for a soft landing. Set realistic expectations.

“I don’t know if she’ll read to you,” I say, the words lodging in my throat. “But if she doesn’t, I’ll still read you all the stories you want.”

Violet nods and snuggles closer, already turning the pages for me as I read. My voice deepens into the cadence she loves, giving each character a different tone. The more I read, the more she relaxes fully against me, her breathing evening out as the story unfolds.

But my mind drifts. To a girl standing in the doorway to my office, pale and shaking, her hand pressed protectively to her stomach as she tells me in a voice trembling with fear that she’s pregnant. I remember the way my world rearranged in that moment. And my initial reaction wasn’t…pleasant. But I made up for it shortly after with a fierce and immediate certainty of our future. I remember cupping Sandrine’s face in my hands and telling her that she had nothing to be afraid of anymore. I remember the way her eyes filled with tears. Her relief was palpable. Even if I was telling more lies. I knew my father would be livid.