Page 56 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

He didn't respond. His fingers traced the shallow bite mark, pausing before he sighed.

"I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

Sorry?

His apology hung in the air. I didn't feel lighter. I felt worse.

If he was sorry, that meant the hurt was real. Those words had come from his mouth. Those days, I'd survived alone.

I turned my face into the pillow.

My warm breath dampened the fabric. My nose stung, and tears slipped out before I could stop them.

I didn't want him to see me cry. I buried my face deeper, shoulders shaking.

His chest pressed against my back, his heat seeping into my cold skin like a wall shielding me.

I sniffed. "I won't forgive you."

Ivan and I—we were never the type that could be fixed with an apology.

Those first two years after Alex was born, I worked three jobs just to cover rent and formula. Days at the grocery store, nights at the gas station.

One winter, Alex got pneumonia. I sat with him in the ER hallway all night, not enough money in my pocket for the co-pay. I crouched against the wall, texting every classmate I could think of, begging for loans.

At my lowest, I ate one piece of bread a day. Stood for twelve-hour shifts until my feet swelled out of my shoes. Came home and cooked for Alex, read him stories, then collapsed at the kitchen table to prep lesson plans after he fell asleep.

I thought I'd break so many times. But every time I looked down at Alex's slate-blue eyes—wet and clear like glass marbles—I told myself I had to keep going. We had no one else in this city.

I felt his arms tighten around me. His chin pressed into the top of my head, his breath trembling, but he said nothing.

Those hardships couldn't be erased with soft words.

Outside the bedroom, Alex's voice rang out.

"Are you guys done talking?"

I wiped my face quickly, pulling free from Ivan's arms. "We're done."

I got up and dressed, walking to the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, but otherwise I looked fine. I pressed my fingertips under my eyes, smoothing away the last traces of moisture. Then I glanced back.

Ivan was still buttoning his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, misaligning them twice.

My temple throbbed. I walked over and undid each button, realigning them properly.

"Sorry," he said above my head, a trace of laughter in his voice. "It's too dark in here. I can't see."

His excuse sounded deliberate.

I shot him a look, said nothing, and finished the last button before pulling my hand back.

I turned and opened the door. Alex stood there, hands behind his back, little face tilted up. His eyes darted between me and Ivan before settling on me.

"Mom, why'd you guys talk for so long?"

I touched the top of Alex's head, feeling the heat creep back into my face.

What was I supposed to say?