Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(17)

I look down at his arm, taking in the multitude of scars. Yes, he probably does. I take a deep breath, pinch the skin on each side of the cut, and start with the first stitch. Mikhail doesn’t even tense when the needle pierces his skin. It’s disturbing. After I’m done patching him up, I place a clean compress over the cut and bandage his forearm.

There is a light touch on my face, just above my cheekbone. It lasts just a moment and then he removes his finger.

“Thank you, solnyshko,” he says and leaves the kitchen.





*


I take the meat casserole from the oven, put it onto the counter, and look toward Mikhail’s bedroom. He went inside after I patched him up and hasn’t come out since. Probably sleeping. Where had he been the whole night? How did he get that knife wound? And what happened to his arm before to leave those scars? When it comes to my husband, I have a long list of questions and zero answers. Will it always be like that?

The front door opens, and Lena runs inside, giggling, with Sisi following. She’ll wake Mikhail. I grab my phone from the counter, rush to Lena who is sitting on the floor taking off her shoes, and crouch in front of her. I brush her hand with mine and she looks up smiling.

“Bianca, Bianca, I have a new drawing. Wanna see?”

I put a finger over my lips and point to Mikhail’s bedroom. When she looks over and back at me, I put my palms together on my cheek to show a sleeping pose.

“You sleepy, Bianca?”

I sigh. Communicating with a small child is going to be hard without being able to speak, and she’s too little to read. Taking my phone from the floor, I type a message and give it to Sisi, who’s standing next to me and watching my interaction with Lena. She looks up from the screen and nods, a surprise visible on her face.

“Daddy is sleeping, Lena. We need to be quiet.”

“Okay,” Lena whispers.

“Bianca prepared lunch. She says if you are quiet and eat your launch, she will teach you ballet.”

“Yes! Yes, Bianca. I will be quiet. Do you really know ballet?”

I smile and nod, then put my finger on my lips again.

“Come, Lena.” Sisi takes her hand. “Let’s go change so you don’t get food on your pretty dress.”

While Sisi helps Lena change, I set the table for the three of us and tidy up the mess I made in the kitchen while preparing lunch. Sisi brings Lena back a few minutes later and the three us sit down to eat. During the meal, we have to remind Lena at least five more times to be quiet. As I watch Sisi with Lena, they seem to get along exceptionally well. A question comes to mind, so I take my phone, type, then show Sisi the screen.

“I’ve been working for Mikhail since Lena was a baby,” she responds. “He hired me when Lena came to live with him. She was two weeks old.”

My eyes widen. How did Mikhail manage with a baby so small, all by himself? Sisi couldn’t be there twenty-four seven. I take the phone and type another question, then pass it to Sisi.

“Yes, it was hard. But Lena was a really good baby, she barely cried at all, and I came every day, but still . . .” She sighs. “I don’t know how he pulled it off. During the first couple of months, he barely slept, but after Lena started sleeping through the night, it got easier. I offered to start taking her to day care during the day and stay overnight, but he declined. It took me a week to convince him to finally let her go when she was two. He loves her very much.”

Yes. Anyone can see how much Mikhail adores his daughter. Especially someone like me, who was raised by parents like mine.

“Bianca, Bianca, can you show me ballet now?” Lena asks, swinging her legs forward and back.

I help her down from her chair, and taking her hand in mine, I lead the way into my room.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Sisi asks, but I just shake my head and raise my thumb up. I’ll find a way to entertain Lena until Mikhail gets up.





I take my phone from the nightstand and look at the time. Almost six in the evening. Shit. Looks like I’m getting too old for pulling two all-nighters in a row. Sisi probably went home already, which means that Bianca is watching Lena. My daughter is a good kid, but she’s a handful.

After a quick shower, I walk out of my bedroom, expecting to find the girls watching TV or something, but there is no one in the living room or anywhere around. The door to Lena’s room is closed, a faint sound of a children’s song coming from inside. I open the door slightly to see what’s going on, and my hand stills on the handle. With her back to the door, Bianca is standing in the middle of the room, her arms raised over her head. She has one of those fluffy white skirts on over her jeans and her ballet slippers. Next to her, Lena is in a similar position, standing on her toes and wearing one of Bianca’s shorter stage skirts. It reaches almost to Lena’s feet.

Bianca lowers one of her hands, taps Lena on the back to straighten her spine, and starts rotating herself slowly until she sees me standing in the doorway. She smiles at me, and it feels like a ray of light on freezing cold skin.

“Daddy, Daddy, I’m a ballerina. See?”

I look down at Lena, who is twirling herself on the tips of her toes.

“I see, zayka.”

“I want ballerina shoes like Bianca’s. Please. Bianca, tell Daddy I need the shoes. I have the skirt, but I need the shoes.”