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“No.”

I look back at his face. “Then who?”

“The owner of the car that hit you.”

For a moment, I can only stare at him. “I thought it was stolen.”

“So did I. We found a dated photograph of it wearing the replacement plates before he reported the theft.” He rubs his thumb over a split in one knuckle. “He helped prepare it, then reported it stolen.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The question I want to ask is whether that makes him sure about everything he has done to the man. I look at his hands again and cannot get it out.

“Did he tell you who hired him?”

“He’s still claiming he knows nothing.”

“After you—” I stop, but his gaze follows mine to his cuff.

“Elara, someone paid him to help kill my daughter. He knows who it was.”

I fold my arms over my stomach.

He looks exhausted. There are creases in his shirt, dark shadows beneath his eyes, and blood on the hand I held across Anya’s hospital bed yesterday. I want to touch him and ask him to sit down. I am also afraid of hearing what happened before he came home.

“So what happens now?” I ask.

“I’ve got no other choice. She can’t stay here while we sort this out.”

Galina appears from the sitting room, carrying Anya’s empty glass.

Nikolai turns toward her. “Pack Anya’s bag. I’m taking her to Russia for a few months.”

I wait for him to look at me.

Galina asks which clothes he wants packed. He tells her to take enough for the journey and the first few days; everything else can be arranged there.

A few months.

That’s it. That’s how he tells me everything between us is over for good.

I’ve been worrying about what Anya should eat for dinner. Her book is open on the sofa, my finger still marking the page in my head. I thought the worst was behind us for good.

And he is taking her to Russia.

Nikolai starts toward the sitting room. I follow him for two steps before I realize he has finished giving instructions.

He hasn’t asked me to pack. I stop walking.

He notices a moment later and turns back. “What is it?”

I shake my head.

There’s still time to ask. I could say, What about me? I could tell him about the test and watch him try to make room for that too.

My throat tightens until swallowing hurts.