Grandpa Vi approached us—his confident steps and calm but firm voice immediately gave the situation a sense of certainty, as if an adult had finally entered the room where emotions were raging.
"Let's go, we're leaving this place," he said without extra words, and in his voice there was not a discussion but a decision made firmly and finally.
I lifted my tearful eyes to him, still reflecting worry.
"What about Max? He… he will kill him," I said, still trembling with fear over what might happen. That thought wouldn't leave me; it itched in my chest, not letting me breathe freely.
"He will stay here. He said he would come back himself," Grandpa Vi answered calmly, as if he already knew exactly what I would ask. There was confidence in his voice, but not carelessness—rather, the weariness of someone who had already seen too much.
"And what about that idiot?" I asked again, unable to hold back, my heart pounding with anxiety.
"He promised not to touch him. He left him and went to Tim," Vi explained the situation to me, making it clear that this time, everything seemed under control. His words didn't completely dispel my fears, but at least they gave a little breathing space—a sip of calm I desperately wanted to believe in.
Having calmed down, I finally agreed to go home. Fatigue washed over me in waves, and at some point resisting became simply pointless. That night, I stayed at his mother's house—a stranger's, but unexpectedly warm space, smelling of herbs and baking, where the walls seemed to remember children's laughter. Seeing my depressed state, she didn't ask anything in the evening. Her silence was surprisingly tactful, and there was restrained care in it.
Waking up in the morning, I got up cautiously, trying not to wake the little one. She was quietly snoring next to me, hugging her plush bunny tightly. In her peaceful sleep, there was so much innocence that I caught myself just watching her for a long time, trying to find strength for the new day.
Entering the kitchen, I saw Elena Dmitrievna leisurely having breakfast. She sat by the window, and the soft morning light fell on her face, highlighting a slight fatigue in her eyes.
"Good morning, and enjoy your meal!" I wished her, trying to be polite, though my voice still trembled from last night's worries. I sat at the table, but inside, everything felt tight.
"Good morning, Katrin. Thank you. You eat too, take some," she offered with motherly care in her voice.
Looking at the food, everything seemed very appetizing: golden pancakes, fragrant tea, cherry jam. But after yesterday… everything inside felt burned out, and my stomach twisted into a knot.
"Sorry, I don't want any," I answered quietly, looking away.
"What happened between you yesterday?" she asked, and my heart jumped. It was the question I feared most. "I can see you and Maxim don't get along."
"He hates me, just like you wanted," I exhaled, not hiding the pain. Inside, the heaviness stirred again. These words seemed to burn my throat, but I could no longer keep them inside.
"That's not true," she replied softly, with surprise. "He told me he loves you and your daughter."
"If you saw how he treats me, you would agree with me," I said, sadness in my eyes. The pain rose again from the depths of my soul, piercing me with memories of looks without tenderness, words that made me want to disappear.
"Even though I was against your relationship…" she said, sighing. "But I know my son at least a little. He won't give up on you, since he hasn't in all these years, even under my pressure. I don't know what's happening with him now, but I'm sure you can solve your problems."
"Thank you for at least believing in that…" I whispered, feeling almost-forgotten hope tremble inside me. "I've lost faith lately."
"I didn't believe before, and even now not entirely," she admitted. "But I realized: since you both are happy together, and I saw that—at least before—then just be together. I don't want to interfere anymore. I won't change anything anyway. I would only become an enemy to you."
"I love your son," I said, as if confessing not to him, but to myself for the first time. "And I left only so as not to ruin his future. But it seems I only made things worse…"
She was silent for a while, as if gathering her thoughts.
"You know, the last time he smiled at me, he was ten…" she began, her voice trembling. "After that, he closed off. Often, I couldn't even get a word out of him…"
I swallowed, clenching my fingers to keep the tears from escaping.
"I wouldn't want to be in your place…" I whispered hoarsely. "Just imagining such a situation with Mary… Max and I, no matter what our relationship, don't argue in front of her."
"And that's right. Don't repeat my mistakes," she praised us, with sadness laced with gratitude. "But that's not what I mean. When I saw you almost four years ago, I was furious. He smiled at you with that smile… And looking at me—it disappeared. Understand, it wasn't only you who hurt him. My guilt there is almost bigger than yours," her voice shook, but it carried sincerity and an attempt to reach out.
"He doesn't look at you like that or say such awful words," I whispered, still not believing I could be truly understood by anyone.
"He did…" she looked away. "And sometimes still does. He hasn't forgiven me either. For leaving him…"
"Well… now we're on the same team," I smiled sadly, feeling something human, perhaps even redemptive, emerge from this shared pain.
By evening, I returned home with the little one, but the guy wasn't there. The house was silent, as if something important had left with him, and the emptiness echoed in my chest. I was sure he would return tomorrow—clinging to that thought like a lifeline. But disappointment awaited me, cold and painful, like a blow to the stomach. He had already been gone for five days after that evening. Five long, anxious, sticky days, filled with waiting, fear, and endless thoughts of the worst.
Vi came to see me—a friend, a savior in these circumstances. He brought food, helped with the household, checked on us and the little one. That gave a little comfort. Maxim asked him to do this over the phone. He didn't tell him anything else—neither where he was nor when he would return. This uncertainty gripped my heart with a vise. I worried. With each passing minute, with every glance at the phone, I sank deeper into anxiety. Because I feared what he might do… things too terrible to even imagine. My imagination, gone mad, painted frightening scenarios. I tried to chase them away, but they returned like ghosts in the night.
Elena Dmitrievna had also come over several times. She played with my daughter, smiled gently, and even tried to encourage me. I was surprised — how quickly she switched from anger to kindness. Her eyes had once been full of strictness, but now they showed warmth and care. Perhaps her fear for her son had made her softer. But I didn't care about her — all my thoughts were with the man I loved more than life. My heart longed for him, calling for some answer, some message, anything.
His mother had tried to call him, even in front of me. She looked at the phone with a pleading expression, as if at an icon. But my beloved first hung up, hinting that he didn't want to talk. Then, when we literally wore him down with our calls, he simply turned off the phone. That was the last straw. We were left completely in the dark. Despair and helplessness slowly but surely poisoned my thoughts.
Today is the sixth day he has been gone. The sixth day of this emptiness and silent waiting. I try not to show the little one that something is wrong — I smile, joke, make up games. But she, as if sensing the anxiety, keeps asking, "Where is Daddy?" Her little voice cuts through my soul. I tell her he went on a work trip, boldly lying. I can't tell her the truth — what would I say? That Daddy went somewhere unknown, doesn't answer calls, and we don't know if he will ever come back? No, it's better if I lie. This little one needs peace, not adult truths.
I put Mary to bed — she is very tired today. All morning and afternoon I play with her, not giving myself a single minute for extra thoughts. This is my protection — hiding in children's smiles, in laughter, in doll tea parties. Mary is, of course, happy, but she gets tired faster and sleeps more deeply. Now she sleeps soundly, curled up like a kitten in her crib. And I am left alone with my fears.
And then the phone rings. The sharp sound snaps me out of my stupor, making my heart clench in anxious jolts. I jump up immediately, answering the call. The number is unknown. My hands tremble, as if from cold.
"Hello?" a cheerful male voice asks on the other end.
"Hello, who is this?" I ask, straining my memory, trying to recognize the voice.
"It's me, Dimka," he says easily.
"Which Dimka?" I clarify, feeling the tension rise.
"Max's friend from the dorm. We shared a room back then. We even had a little thing, you know," he babbles, as if afraid I've forgotten that it really happened.
"I remember, I remember," I murmur more out of politeness.
I don't have time for nostalgia about those days I try to forget forever. Only good memories with Maxim stay in my mind, but even those will soon be all I have left from that time.
"Here's the thing. I'm calling you for a reason," he suddenly gets serious.
"For what?" I immediately tense, my body frozen.
"Max asked me to call you."
"Where is he?!" I blurt out, unable to restrain myself. My heart beats like crazy. I want to know everything as soon as possible.
"He's here, in the dorm," Dimka replies, as if it's not the most important news in recent days.
"Where has he been all this time? He's been gone six days!" Pain and anger boil in my voice, like a whistling kettle.
"Four days ago, he stumbled in here so drunk I couldn't even wake him. He slept almost a whole day."
"And then what?!" I barely hold myself back from screaming.
"Sobered up a bit, he went to the university — we had an exam to take. He passed it, and yesterday he threw a party here at his own expense."
"Did you talk to him? Did he tell you anything?"
"For example, what?" Dimka is surprised, not really understanding what I mean, and clearly doesn't want to answer.
"Where was he before the drinking? Why did he throw a party? Anything… anything at all, I don't care what exactly," I almost beg.
"He's been withdrawn since you left; you can't get a word out of him. He just came up, gave me your number, and told me to call and tell you he's here. Max wants you to come."
"I'm leaving right now! I'll be there soon. He shouldn't do anything without me, I'm almost there!" I start pacing the room, not knowing what exactly to do, since I'm in pajamas.
"Okay. I'll keep an eye on him until you get here."