Page 87 of The Last Hope

I blinked awake and smiled when I saw Nikolai, still dressed in his dirty, rain-soaked clothes.

“Did I fall asleep ?” I asked, sitting up slowly.

“More like a short nap—about ten minutes,” he said, helping me up before leading me towards the bathroom.

“You go first, I’ll go after,” he told me, gesturing toward the bathtub.

But I froze.

The tub was filled to the brim.

Memories crashed into me all at once—screaming, blood, air, suffocation.

Nikolai had his back turned, reaching for fresh towels. I tried to call out, but no sound came. I tried to move, but my body felt impossibly heavy.

“I’ll leave your towel here. I’ll ask Sienna to bring you some—Selina ?”

His hand touched my cheek, and a jolt shot through me, bringing my body back to life—but too fast, too suddenly.

I gasped, stumbling backward so quickly that I lost my balance. Nikolai tried to catch me, but I collapsed onto the floor.

“Selina !” He stepped toward me but froze when I shook my head, raising a trembling hand to stop him.

“I can’t. Please, please. I’m going to die. I’m going to die,” I whispered, pressing myself against the wall.

“Please, Nikolai, don’t make me go in there,” I begged, my eyes pleading.

He looked lost. Slowly, he raised his hands in a calming gesture and knelt before me.

“You’re safe, Selina,” he murmured.

“No, no, no. I’ll drown. I’ll die.”

“Selina, look at me. Look at me,Solnychko.”

Solnychko.

I lifted my eyes, meeting his blue ones—not brown. Blue.

“Nikolai,” I breathed, my lips trembling.

For the first time, I saw his eyes shine with unshed tears.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly it was almost painful. But I didn’t complain—I burrowed deeper into him.

“I’m sorry, Selina. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry I left you behind that night. I’m sorry, Solnychko,” he whispered, kissing my head over and over as I cried every last tear left inside me.

The seconds passed—maybe minutes, maybe hours—I didn’t know. But Nikolai never let me go, not for a single second. His grip never loosened, holding me against him as he whispered, again and again, that he was sorry.

“Rafael was four years old,” I said at last, once I had finally calmed down, my voice hoarse. “I… I couldn’t hold on anymore. I had to protect my son. I had to save him. That was my job as a mother.” I sniffled as he kissed my forehead again.

“I tried to escape. I hid in one of the garbage containers with Rafael on the day they were scheduled to be emptied by the city truck. I waited for hours inside that box, surrounded by waste, with my son. Antonio knew I was in there, and he took pleasure in leaving me there—in letting me hope.”

The memories of that day rushed back—the stench, the darkness, Rafael asking for food, for water.

I felt Nikolai inhale deeply against me.

“After hours of waiting, I decided to peek outside, and he was there, sitting on a lounge chair, drinking. When he saw me, he said I had taken too long. It was so humiliating. He smiled at me and then ordered one of his men to take Rafael inside. And then everything happened so fast… before I could even process it, we were in the bathroom.

---