“Your husband, Mike Shaw, has officially been listed as missing in action after a direct hit on an evacuation vehicle,” the volunteer said quietly, lowering his head. His voice shook with fatigue, and his fingers tightened around the bloodstained scrap of uniform. Annie felt the floor drop out from under her.
Ellen, who had just stepped into the apartment behind the volunteer, made a small broken sound and began to collapse. Boris didn’t move to catch her. He only watched. The volunteer, Alex Bennett, reached her in time and lowered her before she hit the metal edge of the shoe rack.
A heavy silence filled the apartment, broken only by Annie’s frightened whisper as she called for her mother. She ran toward Ellen, but Boris shoved her aside. Alex laid Ellen flat and checked for a pulse.
“Call 911—she’s not breathing right,” he snapped, throwing Boris a hard look. Boris reluctantly pulled out his phone, already processing what Mike’s disappearance might mean for him. His mind was moving ahead to what he could gain.
The ambulance siren cut through the night, louder than the fading emergency alarms outside. EMTs in protective gear hurried into the narrow entryway, bringing with them the smell of antiseptic and urgency. Annie shrank into the corner and watched as the only person she had left was carried away.
“Massive heart attack triggered by acute stress—we’re taking her straight in,” one of the medics said as they loaded Ellen into the ambulance. Boris watched from the window and didn’t even consider going with her. Then he turned back to the crying child, and that same ugly smile returned.
Now there was no one left in the apartment to protect Annie from him. Boris went into the kitchen and poured himself a full glass of vodka, as if he were celebrating. To him, the war had just delivered exactly what he wanted.
Annie sat on the floor in her room, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. It felt as if the whole world had collapsed, leaving her alone with a man who hated her. Somewhere far away, her father was gone—or so she had been told. And in a cold hospital, her mother was fighting for her life.
An hour later Boris came into the room, the alcohol making him bolder. He kicked the teddy bear out of his way and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Annie with the cold calculation of a man who believed no one could stop him.
“Well, kid,” he said hoarsely, “looks like you’re under my roof now.” Annie didn’t answer. She shut her eyes and tried to picture her father’s face—steady, kind, strong. She imagined him walking through the door and throwing Boris out without a word.
But all she heard was the wind whistling through the old window frame. Boris got up and started tearing through closets, tossing Mike’s and Ellen’s clothes onto the floor. He was looking for the key to the lockbox where he was sure they kept emergency cash.
“Where did your mother hide the jewelry and the dollars?” he barked, grabbing Annie by the wrist and twisting. She cried out, but her voice was swallowed by the sound of another blast somewhere near downtown. Boris barely noticed. He cared only about what he could take.
He found the jewelry box behind a stack of linens on the top shelf of the closet. Inside were wedding rings, Ellen’s grandmother’s earrings, and a small bundle of U.S. bills saved for Annie’s future. Boris counted the money, and his eyes lit up.
“Tomorrow I’ll file for guardianship while your mother’s laid up in intensive care,” he muttered. He knew Ellen’s condition was serious, and the doctors weren’t optimistic. To him, that opened the door to taking everything.
Annie heard every word. A cold terror settled over her. She understood that Boris would stop at nothing. Even so, she kept praying her father was alive, no matter what the volunteer had said.
