Page 29 of Scarlet Chains
The fact that he doesn’t seem to register their absence should break something inside me. Instead, it just makes me hold him tighter.
“Ma-ma,” he babbles against my shoulder as I carry him through the garden, his chubby fingers tangled in my hair. The word pierces through me every time, sweet and sharp as a blade between ribs.
“Shh, little one,” I whisper, adjusting his weight against my hip. “Let’s see if the roses are blooming.”
The estate’s manicured gardens are golden in the morning light. Slava points at a butterfly with the concentrated focus of someone discovering fire, his whole body vibrating with excitement. When it lands on a nearby flower, he releases the most delighted squeal I’ve ever heard.
This is what happiness looks like,I think, watching his face transform with wonder.Pure, uncomplicated joy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, shattering the moment. Elena’s name flashes on the screen, and my stomach immediately knots.
“Hello,” I answer, settling Slava on a garden bench beside me. He immediately begins exploring the texture of the wrought iron with his tiny fingers.
“Ilona, darling!” Elena’s voice is artificially bright and three octaves too high. There’s loud music in the background— something electronic and expensive-sounding. “How’s everything going?”
Everything.As if Slava is just another household item to be maintained.
I can picture her perfectly— yesterday’s video call showed her lounging by an infinity pool, her body wrapped in designer swimwear that left little to the imagination. Her skin was flawlessly sun-kissed, her hair styled in beachy waves that looked effortless but definitely weren’t. She’d looked stunning, untouchable— like a woman who’d never changed a diaper or rocked a baby to sleep. The first thing she probably did after giving birth was book appointments for liposuction and a breast augmentation to erase any evidence that she’d ever carried a child.
“He’s doing wonderfully,” I say, watching as Slava tries to fit his entire fist in his mouth. “We just finished breakfast, and now we’re—”
“Fantastic! And the monitors are working? The Wi-Fi hasn’t been cutting out?”
I pause, waiting for her to ask about something that actually matters. About whether he’s been sleeping through the night, or if he’s started saying any new words, or if he’s been missing them at all.
Nothing.
“Everything’s working perfectly,” I manage.
“Perfect! Oh, Leonid wants to say hello. Leo!” Her voice becomes distant as she calls to him. I can hear the clink of glasses, the splash of water— probably a pool— and the kind of careless laughter that only comes from people who’ve never had to worry about anything real.
Slava looks up at me, his eyes full of trust, and my chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to rage.
“Ilona?” Leonid’s voice comes through, smoother than Elena’s but equally detached. “Everything’s running smoothly there?”
“Yes, sir. Slava’s been an angel.”
“Good, good. Listen, we’ve had a slight change of plans.” He pauses, and I can hear him taking a sip of something. “We were supposed to fly home tomorrow, but we’ve decided to make a quick stop in Hawaii first. Check on the house there, you know how it is.”
No,I want to say.I don’t know how it is to own multiple houses scattered across the globe while your baby learns to walk without you there to see it.
“Can you stay two extra nights? I’ll make it worth your while, of course.”
In the background, I hear Elena’s voice, shrill with laughter: “Leo! Put the phone down, she’ll be fine with Slava! Come here for the group photo!”
My eyebrows climb toward my hairline before I can stop them. A group photo. Their child’s caregiver is discussing logistics while they pose for Instagram.
“Of course,” I hear myself saying. “That’s no problem.”
“Excellent! And Ilona?” His voice drops, taking on that particular tone rich people use when they’re about to make an offer they think you can’t refuse. “When we get back, let’s discuss you staying on permanently. Long-term arrangement. Very generous compensation.”
Permanent.I pull in a breath. The idea of watching Slava grow up while his parents treat him like an expensive accessory, of being the only one who sees his first steps, hears his first real words, comforts him when he’s scared…
“We’ll talk when you return,” I say carefully.
“Perfect! Enjoy the sunshine, Ilona!”
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at the phone like it might explode. Slava makes a questioning sound, reaching for the device with grabby hands.
