“I thought I could help quickly and go back.”
His lower lip trembled.
Mikhail’s expression softened again, though his voice stayed firm. “Good intentions can still lead to danger.”
“I know.”
“You frightened many people tonight.”
“I know.”
“You frightened me.”
Misha’s eyes filled.
Mikhail seemed to regret the words the moment they left him, not because they were untrue but because his son felt them deeply.
I stood and walked behind the counter, giving them a moment. Some family conversations deserved a witness less than they deserved space.
Ray followed me into the narrow strip between the counter and kitchen.
“You realize who that is?” he whispered.
“A father.”
Ray gave me a look. “Anna.”
“What?”
“That is Mikhail Volkov.”
“So he said.”
“You don’t know the name?”
“I don’t keep a scrapbook of intimidating men.”
Ray lowered his voice further. “People cross the street to avoid that name.”
“Then people need better shoes.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He leaned close. “Men like that do not walk into diners like this unless something has gone very wrong.”
I looked over at Misha, now carefully lifting the kitten toward his father as if presenting evidence in court.
“Something did go wrong,” I said. “His son got lost.”
Ray shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”
I didn’t answer, because part of me knew he was right.
There were too many men outside. Too many tense glances. Too much control around one small boy.
And there was Nina, the missing nanny, who had vanished at a mall during a storm.
Mikhail rose, the kitten now somehow in his hands. He held it awkwardly, as if it were made of glass and accusation.
Misha watched him with hope.
“No,” Mikhail said.
Misha’s face fell.
“I haven’t said anything.”
