Page 73 of Porcelain Vows

I step back slightly, watching them together. Polina seems perfectly content in his lap, her eyes fixed on his face with that strange focus newborns sometimes have.

“Where’s Papa?” Bobik asks, not looking up from his sister.

“He had some business to handle,” I answer vaguely. “He’ll be by later, I’m sure.”

I wonder briefly what “business” could have caused the tightness around Aleksei’s eyes this morning when I saw him briefly. The barely controlled tension in his movements. Something dangerous, perhaps. Something Bratva-related.

“Has your memory come back?” Bobik asks suddenly, his perceptiveness catching me off guard. “Papa said you were starting to feel better.”

I move to sit on the edge of his bed, bringing myself to his eye level. “Yes, most of it has returned.”

His smile brightens. “Good. I was worried you might forget our chess games. I’ve been practicing.”

“Well, I might need a refresher on your special moves,” I say, returning his smile.

He adjusts Polina slightly, his movements careful but confident. “Papa says you’re staying with us forever now. That you’re family.”

The statement hits me with unexpected force. Forever. Family. Such simple words to describe something so impossibly complicated.

Before I can formulate a response, Polina makes a small gurgling sound, drawing Bobik’s attention back to her. His face immediately transforms into an exaggerated expression of surprise, eyes wide and mouth in an “O” shape.

“Look at you!” he coos, voice rising in pitch. “Are you talking to me? Are you?”

Polina responds with a delighted wiggle, her tiny hand reaching up to grasp at his face. When she catches his nose, Bobik makes a honking sound that sends her into what can only be described as baby ecstasy— her whole body tensing with excitement.

Their laughter fills the room— his bright and clear, hers a bubbling, hiccupping sound that seems too big for her tiny body. The joy between them is palpable, infectious.

And heartbreaking.

Watching them, I can’t help but imagine what might have been. In another world, one where my father hadn’t been drunk that day, Bobik might be running through this mansion, chasing his little sister. He might be playing soccer in the garden, climbing trees, experiencing all the physical freedoms most children take for granted.

Instead, he’s confined to a wheelchair, his brilliant mind trapped in a body that can’t fully respond to its commands. Because of my father’s negligence. Because of a mistake that set in motion events that would eventually claim both my parents’ lives.

“When I have my operation,” Bobik says suddenly, still looking at Polina, “I’m going to run with you in the garden. The doctor is working on new technology that might help me walk.”

“You are going to try another surgery?” I ask, surprised.

He nods. “Mm-hmm! I can’t give up. I’m going to walk one day. I know it!” His face shines with childlike optimism.

My chest tightens. “That would be wonderful,” I say around a lump in my throat. I mask it with a warm smile that seems to satisfy him.

“I’ll teach you everything,” he continues, speaking to Polina now. “How to play chess. How to identify constellations. The best hiding places in the manor.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a secret passage in the library.Papadoesn’t know I know about it.”

I reach out, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re going to be an amazing big brother.”

“I already am,” he says with such confidence that I can’t help but laugh. “We have the same eyes, don’t we? Papa’s eyes.”

“Yes,” I agree softly. “You do.”

How do I explain to a ten-year-old that his condition exists because of my father’s negligence? That his father killed mine in revenge? That our baby links us all in this tragic circle? The answer is simple: I don’t. I can’t. Some truths are too heavy for children to bear. Even for us, adults.

Bobik deserves his innocence, his hope for the future, his uncomplicated love for his sister. And Polina deserves a brother who sees only possibilities, not the painful history that connects them.

“Do you think she’ll like science?” Bobik asks, gently rocking Polina as she begins to fuss slightly. “Or will she be artistic?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “She’ll be her own person. But she’ll always have you to guide her.”

He nods solemnly, accepting this responsibility with characteristic seriousness. Then his expression shifts to something more hesitant. “Will you… will you bring her to visit me often? Even whenPapais busy?”

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