Page 131 of Scarlet Thorns
Simpson takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes when I finish. “This is the most disturbing story I have heard in my thirty-year career in childcare. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Just let me see my son,” I say.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Simpson looks up at me, and the expression on his face makes my gut clench.
“Unfortunately, Slava has been adopted, Mr. Sidorov. He is going to have an amazing life with great parents. We… we are actually waiting for the adoptive parents to collect him today.”
For a moment, it feels as it the planet stopped spinning.
Today.
What the actual fuck? I flew all the way from Hungary to hear… this? My son— the child I just discovered is alive— is being taken away from metoday?
The odds of this are staggering, but considering the perpetual clusterfuck of a life I used to live, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I want to see my son,” I insist, but Simpson shakes his head.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. The adoption process has already moved through the courts and the necessary agencies, and we’re bound by those agreements. It’s out of our hands.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, desperation creeping into my voice. “I’m Slava’s father. He’s my son.” I say the words as if they’ll make a difference somehow.
“I… I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Sidorov. Laws are laws. I can’t undo them. Even if what you’re saying is true, the system considers Slava an orphan. My hands are tied.”
I reach for the twenty thousand on the table and slide it back to him. Then I pull out another envelope, another twenty.
“Mr. Simpson… if you don’t take the money for yourself, take it for your institution. All I ask is that you let me see my son.”
Simpson stares at the money, then at me. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Finally, he sighs.
“Fine. I have three boys at home. I understand how you must feel. But let me tell you something: It will be a lot harder for you if you see your son, Mr. Sidorov. You might find it impossible to let go.”
“Just take me to him,” I repeat. I don’t care anymore about consequences or complications. I don’t care about anything but seeing my son. “I’m not leaving here until I see him.”
Simpson pulls out the drawer of his desk and puts the money inside. Then he locks it with a key.
“I promise this will be invested in a good cause.” He stands, straightening his jacket. “Let’s go.”
As we walk toward the stairs, I force myself to breathe. In a few minutes, I’m going to see my son for the first time.
The child who survived when everyone said he couldn’t.
The boy who’s been waiting his entire life for a father who’s finally come home.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ilona
The cramping hasn’t stopped.
It’s been days since the miscarriage, and my body still feels like it’s turning itself inside out. Every breath comes with a sharp reminder of what I’ve lost— not just the pregnancy, but the hope I didn’t want to believe I was carrying. The possibility of something beautiful with Osip, something that could have transcended whatever darkness brought us together.
Osip disappeared yesterday morning without a word. No note, no explanation, just the silence where his presence used to be. Since I got back from the hospital, I’ve returned to the guest suite. No sense in sharing a bed with him now that we’re no longer trying for a baby. And that hurts just as much as everything else.
And now there’s Melor— the brother who arrived out of nowhere when Osip vanished. He claims he doesn’t know where his brother went, but the way his eyes slide away from mine tells a different story. Everyone knows something I don’t. Everyone is protecting me from truths I apparently can’t handle.
I’m so fucking tired of being protected.
My phone pings with a reminder of my appointment with Dr. Varga this afternoon, so I call to confirm.
