Page 128 of Scarlet Thorns
“Your son is alive, Osip. His name is Slava.”
Everything stops.
The world, my breathing, my fucking heartbeat, all stop. Then it all comes crashing back at once. I have to hold onto the desk to keep from falling out of my chair. The tiny movements. The kicking. He was fighting. Even then, he was fighting to live.
Bozhe moy…
My son was fighting to live while I was running away.
“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” It comes out as a pathetic wheeze. “Why are we just now learning about this?”
I can practically hear him shrug over the line. “You know how bureaucracy can be. And your head was so fucked up, I doubt it even occurred to you to go charging into a hospital demanding proof that your child had died too. You were too busylicking your wounds, remember? And the system sucked the baby in, like it’s supposed to in a case like this.”
The guilt hits me yet again.
I abandoned him.
My son— my flesh and blood— has been alone for months because I was too much of a fucking coward to stay and face the consequences. Too concerned with starting over to think about what might have survived that nightmare.
I let him down before he even knew I existed.
“Where is he?” My voice cracks. “Where is my son?”
“Still at Beacon Hill Orphanage, apparently. I’ve got the address, contact information for the director. They’re good people, Osip. The boy’s been well cared for.”
Well cared for by strangers. While his father played house with another woman and pretended his past didn’t exist.
Neveroyatnyy…
I’m already standing, already reaching for my keys. Nothing else matters. Not the business, not the construction, not anything. My son is alive and he’s been waiting for me.
“A year,” I say hoarsely, mentally doing the math.
“Da.Your kid’s nearly twelve months old. Survived against all odds. The nurses called him their miracle baby.”
Twelve months. Twelve months of milestones I missed. Twelve months of sleepless nights someone else endured. Twelve months of first smiles and sounds that I’ll never get back.
“Send me everything you have,” I tell him. “Address, contact information, any records you can find.”
“Already in your email. Osip…” His voice softens slightly. “The adoption paperwork hasn’t been filed yet. He’s still available for family placement if next of kin comes forward.”
Next of kin. That’s me. His father. The man who should have been there from the beginning.
“Get me a flight to Boston,” I tell him.
“Now?” he says.
“No, next year,” I snap. “Of course now,mudak!”
“I’m not sure about flight schedules from Liszt Ferenc, so there might not be any seats available until—”
“Charter something, for fuck’s sake!” I bark back. “Jesus, Radimir, do you need me to think for you too?”
He’s still muttering something as I hang up and call Melor as I head for the door. He answers on the first ring.
“Brat?”
“I need you to come to my house to look after Ilona. Don’t tell her where I am or why. I’m going to Boston right away.”
