I remember those days—the volatile mood swings, the cruel words, the public scenes he caused. The broken promises and the times I'd find him high out of his mind with other women.
“You were an addict,” I say quietly.
“Yes. But that doesn't excuse how I treated you.” His hands twist together. “I called you names because of your size. I made you feel worthless. I cheated on you repeatedly. I borrowed money that I never repaid. I tried to get you to use. And then, when Agafon asked why I was in that situation, I was too ashamed to admit the truth. So I lied and made you the villain.”
There's something powerful in hearing him acknowledge it all—every painful memory I'd tucked away, every hurt I'd tried to forget.
“Part of recovery is making amends where possible.” His smile is sad, self-deprecating. “Though I understand if you tell me to go to hell.”
I study him for a long moment. The boy who broke my heart is gone, replaced by a man trying to piece himself back together. I recognize the effort it takes.
“Most men can't face their demons,” I tell him. “They blame everyone else for their mistakes. The fact that you're here, saying these things... I'm proud of you, Nikandr.”
He blinks rapidly, clearly not expecting forgiveness. “I don't deserve that.”
“It's not about deserving,” I say. “It's about growth. You're not the same person who hurt me.”
Relief washes over his features. “Thank you,” he whispers.
We sit in a more comfortable silence now with the past acknowledged.
“He really does love you,” Nikandr says eventually. “Agafon. Everyone can see it. He's different with you.”
“I know,” I admit softly, the words barely audible.
“Then forgive him,” Nikandr urges. “He married you for the wrong reasons, yes. But what started as revenge became something real.” He stands, moving toward the door. “Don't punish him for loving his family. You of all people should understand that.”
“I do,” I nod. The door closes behind him, and what I didn’t say is that Agafon hasn’t yet asked for my forgiveness. But when he does, he’ll find me willing to listen.
***
Hours later, Agafon enters with my evening medication, and the first thing he does is check if I’ve eaten.
“I did,” I nod, and he proceeds to pass me the pills with a glass of water. When I’m done, he turns to leave, but I decide that today, I’m ready for that conversation.
“Nikandr came to see me,” I tell him.
Agafon stills, his back still to me. “Did he upset you?”
“No. He apologized. Told me the truth about college.” I pause. “About the lies he told you.”
Agafon turns slowly, his face carefully blank. “I should have verified his story before—”
“Before marrying me for revenge?” I finish for him.
He flinches and drops his head. “Yes.”
I pat the edge of the bed. “Come sit with me.”
He looks up in surprise and then hesitates. I wave him over in encouragement, and finally, he moves over and perches on the very edge as though he’s afraid of hurting me with his mere presence. Up close, I can see the shadows under his eyes and the fatigue etched across his face.
“Why don't you sleep beside me anymore?” I ask directly.
The question clearly catches him off guard. His gaze flicks to mine, then away.
“You're injured,” he says stiffly.
“You were injured the night that bullet grazed your arm, too, but we shared a bed that night,” I tilt my head. “That's not the reason, is it? Agafon, I was angry, yes, but we can still talk. I obviously came back here to let you help me heal, when I could have gone to my brothers or cousins, for a reason. I still…trust you. You came for me, Agafon. Even after I told you I didn’t want to see you, you came for me. So…why? Why are you being so distant?”
