Category: Fiction

My mother. Alive. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. “You’re lying.” “Am I?” Mikayla rolls her shoulders, testing the chains that bind her to the metal chair. We’re down in one of the basement rooms now—concrete walls, no windows, a single bulb overhead. “Why would I lie about that?” “To save your skin. To fuck

“You’re Natalia Safonova.” The woman seated across from me shrugs. “I was. Now, I’m just Natalia. The Safonova name carries too much baggage.” She stands and moves to the window, gazing out at the manicured lawn. The afternoon light catches her profile—and suddenly, I see it. The proud cheekbones. The straight nose. Features softened by