Listen. It’s what I begged of him all those months ago. How can I deny him now? How can I deny him anything?
“Fine. But I don’t want to fight.”
With a slow exhale, I turn my back to the door and let myself lean against it. My palm finds a spot to rest on, fingers slightly curled, as if looking for a hand on the other side.
I wonder if there is one. If, right now, Matvey’s doing the same thing I am: putting all the weight of the past few days on this impersonal slab of wood, the only physical thing separating us. The door he used to come through every night for dinner. The door I used to open for him, after a knock just like tonight’s.
The door I might never open again.
I’ve already made up my mind. He doesn’t know, but I have. This is the last chance I’m going to give him. If he keeps
