When I exit the guest room, I see Mikhail standing by the counter, a pan and a carton of eggs in front of him. Lena is sitting on the carpet in the living room, playing with the book we bought the other day, but when she sees me coming, she jumps up and runs in my direction.
“Bianca, Bianca, can you make pancakes? Daddy doesn’t know how to make pancakes. Can you make pancakes?”
I smile, brush the back of my palm over her rosy cheek, and nod.
She squeals in delight, grabs my hand, and starts dragging me toward the kitchen. “Daddy, Daddy, Bianca will make pancakes.”
She ushers me over to the stove, and I find myself standing next to Mikhail, with my shoulder brushing his arm. Lena lets go of my hand and runs back to the living room, leaving me alone with my deceiver of a husband.
“
