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“It also kept him from me.”

I face him fully. “You didn’t know he existed.”

“Because you made sure I didn’t.”

His voice remains even, and that restraint is worse than shouting.

I move closer until only the corner of the bench separates us. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I didn’t bring a baby into a house where men settle arguments with rifles?”

“I want you to stop acting as if your choice was the only right one.”

Neither of us speaks.

Water ticks through the irrigation pipes beneath the beds. Snow slides from one pane and lands somewhere beyond the wall.

I look at his face and the clean line of his jaw, now free of the dark stubble he wore until recently. He nearly died without knowing he had a son. I kept Misha safe without knowing whether safety would one day feel like theft.

Both things are true.

That is the part I can’t bear.

I fold my arms tighter. “So, what happens now?”

Alexei watches me. “You tell me the truth.”

“You already know it.”

“I know dates.”

I stiffen before I can stop myself, and he catches it.

I lift my chin. “And after that?”

“After that, we decide how Misha lives.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

The word sounds like a threat, though his expression remains controlled.

I step closer. “Is that your plan? You bring in clothes, secure the playroom, and add us to your security system without asking. Then you call it shared parenting?”

“I made the wing safer. Isn't that what fathers do?”

“Fathers don't make it harder to leave.”

His mouth flattens. “There are men trying to take him.”

“There are always men trying to take something in the world.”

“And you think running will keep working?”

“I think staying here gives you every advantage.”

Alexei moves around the bench until nothing separates us. “You think I plan to take him from you.”

I hold his gaze. “Do you?”