Page 187 of Sexting the Pakhan

The girls. The timing. My face when that woman said they looked like him.

He knows.

By the time we get back to the cottage, I’m so tense my shoulders hurt.

The girls run inside first because Mila wants to name the cereal boxes and Nadia wants to stop her before it becomes permanent. I carry two bags. Ruslan takes the heavier ones despite his leg, which annoys me because I want to be angry and he’s still being useful.

The front door shuts behind us.

The girls disappear into the kitchen.

Only then does he speak. “How old are they?”

I set the bags down too hard on the counter. “Ruslan.”

“How old?”

I turn around. His face is calm. His eyes are not.

“They’re five,” I say.

He nods once.

The math happens behind his eyes again, but he already did it in the grocery store. This is not about the number. It’s about hearing me say it.

“You knew,” he says.

“No,” I say. “You understood.”

“That’s not an answer.”

My temper flares immediately. “Then ask a better question.”

Something hard moves across his face. “Are they mine?”

The words land like a slap.

I glance toward the kitchen. I can hear Mila opening cupboard doors she was absolutely told not to open. Nadia is correcting her in a harsh whisper.

I lower my voice. “Not here.”

“Where, then?”

“Somewhere my daughters can’t hear.”

He takes one slow step closer. “My daughters?”

I hate how low he says it. I hate that the words sound right in his mouth.

I hate that some part of me has imagined this moment and still wasn’t ready for it.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “Your daughters.”

His whole body stills.

For one second, all the anger goes out of him. There’s only the fact itself. Then it comes back in a different form.

“You left without telling me.”