Page 71 of The Pakhan’s Hidden Heir

“Higher!”

“You’re plenty high,” I tell him, and I take a step back, watching the full arc of his downward swing.

He offers a naughty grin at me, then he scares me to death and shocks me into silence as he lets go.

Felix sails out over the sand with his arms flung wide, copying the bigger boys who’ve done this in front of him, but lands wrong.

One foot plants but the other folds under him, making him topple sideways screaming.

“Oh god,” I mumble, rushing to his side, and I drop to my knees in the sand with him, getting an arm under his shoulders, lifting him against me while he screams loudly.

He’s writhing, grabbing for his leg as tears stream down his cheeks.

“Let me see, baby. Let Mama see.” I try to pry his hands away so I can lift his pantleg, but he won’t let me near it. He shrieks, twisting away, and screams louder.

But I have to see what’s going on.

If it’s a broken bone, I have no clue what to do.

We purposefully live in a manner that I don’t have to have anyone in my private life. A doctor’s office will ask all sorts of questions.

I work his boot off by the heel while he thrashes and howls into my neck and his ankle is already swollen and red.

He’s definitely hurt himself, maybe a sprain or a break.

There’s no way for me to tell on my own, and there’s nothing I can do for him.

I have no choice but to take him to the clinic and pray nothing bad happens.

“Okay. Okay, we’re going, hold onto me.”

I get my purse over my shoulder and haul him onto my hip. He’s too big for this but I do it anyway, running toward the car as he screams in my ear and clings to me.

My hands shake so badly at the car that I drop the keys but finally manage to get it unlocked and him buckled.

And my letter is all but forgotten as I rush across town to the clinic.

“You’re alright,” I keep telling him, trying to stay calm for him, but I’m a nervous wreck now too. “You’re alright, we’re almost there, hold on for Mama.”

I rush him into the clinic but the entire time my fight-or-flight response doesn’t let up.

An hour later, when I’m settling him on the sofa in front of Masha and the Bear, I can slip away to the bedroom to let a few tears fall.

This whole afternoon has been nearly traumatic. I need encouragement and I need it now.

I can’t wait a month for a letter, and it’s been so long, if anyone is still looking for me, they’ll never look in the middle of Siberia.

So I pull out my phone, swiping tears off my cheeks, and dial Lada’s phone number. We haven’t spoken in almost six years now, and the instant the line connects, more tears fall.

“Lada?” I say softly.

“Oh my god,” she hisses, sounding like she’s trying to hold back all her emotion. “Oh my god. Tell me that’s you. Tell me right now that’s you.”

“It’s me.”

She squeaks then squeals and suddenly she’s laughing and crying at the same time.

The emotion overwhelms me too, making my tears worse, but the relief is immediate.