I yanked on the handcuffs once more.
His gaze hardened. “Tell me.”
“I’m infertile,” I blurted out. “I can’t have children. I can’t have your children.”
Then I lost it.
“Shit,” I heard him say nearby. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to close my eyes and shut the world out. A clunking noise came from above my head, and then the cuffs were removed, and Nikolay joined me on the bed, pulling me close.
I fought him off. Or tried to, at least.
“Shh,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around me. I struggled against him, but it was no use. He was just so strong, and I didn’t know why he was hugging me like this when he’d just found out I was defective.
He should be walking away from me.
I didn’t understand.
I buried my face in his chest, and I broke down.
Somewhere between my tears clinging to my cheeks to when I soaked his shirt, I realized I wasn’t just crying because I couldn’t have children, but crying over all the nasty things Father had said about me over this defect and my mutism.
They always liked to tell me how innocent I was compared to them.
My innocence was forcefully taken from me when I was nine.
I wasn’t the girl they took. I never was.
I wasn’t even my father’s greatest treasure.
I was …
Broken.