Page 73 of Cruel Submission

I can’t process it. Can’t make it fit with reality.

Another baby. Another child. I’m going to be a father of two.

Bozhe moi.

“How far along?” The question comes out rough. Too loud.

“Four or five months.” Her voice is small. Uncertain.

Four or five months. She’s been carrying my child for almost half the pregnancy, and I didn’t know. Didn’t notice. Too wrapped up in my own shit to see what was right in front of me.

The timeline clicks into place. Five months ago, we were still dancing around each other. Then she was in my bed. And all this time she’s been pregnant, terrified, planning her escape.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Even though I already know. Even though the answer’s obvious.

Her eyes flash. “Tell you? Really?”

“Mirabel—”

“The very first thing I heard from you—before I even met you in person—was you telling your fiancée that you never wanted kids. Two minutes before your wedding, Arkady. Two minutes.” Her voice cracks. “And then you walked away from Rosanna at the altar because she was pregnant. You chose nothing over becoming a father.”

Every word lands where it should. In the places that already hurt.

“And then I find out you have a woman and a baby hidden in your house?” She’s crying harder now, angry tears. “All this time, I thought you had a secret wife and child. That you were lying about everything. How could I stay? How could I keep working for you and sleeping with you when I didn’t know what was real?”

Chert voz’mi.

She’s right. Completely, devastatingly right.

What she doesn’t know is why. Why I hid Debra. Why I took Aleks. Why I’m so fucked up about fatherhood that I ran from one pregnancy, and now I’m drowning in two.

“I was going to tell you,” I say. “About Debra. When she was ready. When I thought—” I stop. Press my palms against my eyes. “She has PTSD. Severe. She’s still in treatment. Dr. Harrison comes three times a week, and some days Debra can’t even leave her bed without dissociating.”

Mirabel’s watching me. Listening. Not interrupting.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I continue. “Didn’t know when the right time was. Debra needed space to heal before I threw her twin sister at her. And you—” I look at her. Hold her gaze. “You would have wanted to fix her. Would have pushed too hard, too fast because that’s what you do. You care too much.”

“So you decided for me.” Her voice is flat. “Decided I couldn’t handle it.”

“Yes.” Honesty. All I have left. “I decided for you. I was wrong.”

She nods slowly. Processing.

“And Aleks?” She wipes her face with her sleeve. “The baby?”

“Aleks is the baby Rosanna was pregnant with. At the wedding.”

Her eyes widen. “Where is she? Rosanna?”

“Gone.”

The word hangs there. Heavy.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Dead.” I force it out. “Car accident. She was clinically depressed. Had been for years. There are suspicions that it wasn’t an accident. That she—” I stop. Swallow. “That she chose it.”

Mirabel stares at me. Searching my face for the lie. For the manipulation. She won’t find it.