March 22nd, 6 p.m.
I struggle to open my eyes again, but the whispers around me intensify, making it impossible to believe I’m having a nightmare.
“Someone has to tell her,” Uncle Yuri says.
“She already knows,” Mama replies. “It was written on her face. She already knows.” Her voice cracks.
“Papoushka?” I whisper, and my uncle rushes to my side. I struggle to sit up, wincing at the pain. There’s a hole where my heart used to be. I shouldn’t be able to breathe. But I can. I am alive, but it doesn’t feel like I can really be happy or thankful until I see Papa, until I know he’s okay.
“Katya,” Uncle Yuri calls. Mama tiptoes closer to me. I can see her blue eyes full of tears.
My chest constricts.
“Your papa . . .” Tears fall down her beautiful face. I want to tell her that it will be okay, that Papa would never leave us, that he’s here somewhere, ready to hold her, ready to hold me. Uncle Yuri wraps an arm around her shoulder, but she shakes it off. “Your papa’s gone, Natoushka.”
“No. He can’t be. He can’t be gone,” I whisper. And then sobs rack my body. The pain intensifies, but the sadness overwhelms everything.