SCARS

What Mother Never Said

CHAPTER FIVE

Anastasia's POV

I stared at Mama, waiting for her to continue.

She had just admitted that there were things she hadn't told me after Father's death, yet she seemed determined to make every answer more confusing than the question that came before it.

“Mama, you're frightening me,” I said quietly.

Her expression softened. “I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

“Then please tell me what's going on.”

She placed her teacup on the table and folded her hands together.

“Your father wasn't an easy man to understand, Anastasia. There were parts of his life he kept separate from our family.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means he had responsibilities and relationships you knew nothing about.”

“Relationships?” I repeated. “Are you saying Father had another family?”

“No!” she answered quickly. “That's not what I'm saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Mama sighed and rubbed her forehead. She looked exhausted, and for a moment, I felt guilty for pushing her. But then I remembered the stranger who had visited our house and the fear that had crossed her face when she saw him.

“Who is Dmitri Sokolov?” I asked.

Her fingers went still.

“I told you his name.”

“You didn't tell me who he is.”

She looked towards the window before answering. “Your father and Dmitri knew each other for a long time.”

“Were they friends?”

“Once, perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” I repeated incredulously. “Mama, how can you not know whether your husband was friends with someone?”

“I know what their relationship became.”

“And what did it become?”

Her jaw tightened.

“Complicated.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “You keep doing that. You give me one little piece of information and expect me to stop asking questions.”

“Because I cannot give you every answer, Anastasia.”

“Or because you don't want to?”

She flinched, and my frustration immediately gave way to guilt.

I lowered my voice. “I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want to understand why you looked so frightened when he came here.”

Mama stared at me for a long moment.

“Your father trusted Dmitri once,” she said eventually. “More than he should have.”

“What did Dmitri do?”

“That's enough for today.”

I leaned back against the sofa, shaking my head. “You cannot be serious.”

“I'm trying to protect you.”

“From what? My own father's past?”

She looked away.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then Mama rose and walked towards the window, looking out at the garden where Father used to sit with us on weekends.

“When your father died, I made a promise,” she said.

“To whom?”

“To myself. I promised I would keep this family together. Your siblings needed me, and so did you. I couldn't allow the things your father left behind to destroy what remained of our lives.”

My throat tightened.

“Were you afraid someone would hurt us?”

Mama didn't answer immediately.

“Mama?”

“There are people who don't accept being told no,” she said quietly. “People who hold on to anger for years. When your father died, I believed those matters were finished.”

“And now?”

She turned to face me.

“Now I'm not so certain.”

I sat perfectly still.

For the first time, my mother looked less like someone determined to hide the past and more like someone who had been waiting for it to catch up with her.

“Does this have something to do with my birthday?” I asked.

Her expression changed.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you said there was something I needed to understand before I turned eighteen.”

Mama pressed her lips together.

“I shouldn't have said that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't know what will happen next.”

Before I could ask another question, one of my siblings appeared at the doorway, holding a phone.

“Mama, someone is calling you. They said it's urgent.”

Mama took the phone, glanced at the screen, and immediately stood.

“Excuse me, Anastasia.”

She walked towards the hallway, leaving me alone with my unanswered questions.

I remained on the sofa for several minutes before finally heading upstairs. I had hoped our conversation would help me understand my father, but I now had even more reasons to wonder what my mother was hiding.

Later that evening, I came downstairs to find the dining table covered with papers, fabric samples, and a notebook. Mama sat in the middle of the arrangement, discussing something with the housekeeper.

I stopped beside the table.

“What's all this?”

Mama looked up. “Your birthday preparations.”

I blinked. “You're already planning everything?”

“Your birthday is in a few days, Anastasia. We cannot leave everything until the last minute.”

I picked up one of the fabric samples and examined it.

“I thought we were keeping it simple this year.”

“We are,” she assured me, although the number of papers on the table suggested otherwise.

I chuckled lightly. “Mama, this looks like you're planning a royal wedding.”

For the first time that day, she smiled.

“Must you always exaggerate?”

“I'm your daughter. I inherited it from you.”

She shook her head, laughing softly, and for a moment, things between us felt almost normal.

Then the housekeeper mentioned the guest list.

“Should I include Mr. Sokolov, ma'am?”

Mama's smile disappeared.

I looked from her to the housekeeper.

“Dmitri?” I asked.

The housekeeper nodded. “Your mother mentioned that we should finalise the invitations tonight.”

Mama collected the papers in front of her.

“Yes,” she said after a pause. “He should receive an invitation.”

I studied her face, searching for an explanation she clearly wasn't going to offer.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“No.”

She answered too quickly.

I wanted to question her, but she turned to the housekeeper and began discussing the arrangements again.

I picked up my phone and headed upstairs.

A birthday party. Guests. Music. Family photographs.

Everything sounded ordinary enough.

Yet I couldn't stop thinking about the man whose name had made my mother forget how to smile.

And now, in a few days, I would have to face him again.