Lana woke up in the middle of the night with a sense of dread. Nausea swept over her, and a heavy feeling pulled her out of bed, refusing to let her sleep. She got up and leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to her heaving chest. It was the same feeling she’d had right before her father’s death. She hadn’t been able to sit still in the hospital hallway—tears had suddenly started choking her. Lana had felt that he was slipping away. She had run to the ICU doors, banging on them, demanding someone check on her father.
“He’s not well!” she’d cried to the hospital staff.
But they had calmed her, assuring her he was fine—that he was asleep. He had been dying. And within the hour, he was gone. Now the same thing was happening again. Why?! Who was dying this time? Her mother was peacefully asleep in her room. Her grandparents had long since passed. They had no other close relatives she could feel this deeply for. Mentally, she went through a list of names, trying to think of anyone. Sitting down on the floor, Lana closed her eyes and began to pray:
“God, please help the one who’s suffering right now! God, I beg you—save them! Lord, hear my prayers and protect them from death! Whoever needs you, reach out your hand—save them!”
Tears streamed down her face, and she had no idea why. She just felt horrible.
Robert had also been beaten—but not to death. The men who’d done it were professionals. They had used batons, bruising him badly but breaking nothing. Then they warned him: if he ever tried to find Victoria, or even mentioned her, he wouldn’t live to regret it. He promised that as of that moment, she was dead to him. And they let him go.
On Monday, he didn’t show up for work. He sent a message to Olga Nikolaevna’s phone, apologizing and explaining that he was very ill and wouldn’t be able to come to the office that week. She called him immediately—and so did her daughter. He hadn’t wanted to talk but had no choice. He said he’d been in an accident. Nothing serious—just needed rest.
Naturally, within the hour, Lana was at his door. So that’s why I felt so awful, she thought. The man I love was in an accident. When he opened the door to the apartment he was renting, Lana couldn’t hold back. She threw her arms around him and said:
“Thank God you’re alive!”
“Easy, easy…” he murmured, gently pulling away.
“How did it happen?” she asked with concern, kicking off her shoes—though he hadn’t invited her in. She went straight to the kitchen to drop off the bags of food she’d brought.
He stood there, head slightly tilted, watching her with a heavy heart. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
But seeing that she wasn’t going anywhere, he closed the door and dragged himself back to the couch. He lay down, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, pretending to sleep.
“Did you get hit crossing the street?” she pressed, knowing he didn’t own a car.
She knelt down beside him and gently touched his bruised cheek.
“Oh my God, you need to go to the hospital. You’re just lying here. Are you sure you don’t have any broken bones?”
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered without turning. “I just need rest.”
“Of course,” she said softly, gazing at him with loving eyes.
He cursed everything—for sending that message. He should’ve said he left town! When would she go already?!
“I brought cutlets and soup. You should eat, okay? There’s also salad, fruit, cheese, and juice.”
