This is fine with me. My time with Grigory is over. I am no longer his fun, and he is no longer mine. I will get to enjoy more time in my studio, creating art that makes me happy.

And so, as my last act as Grigory’s mistress, I am returning this painting to its rightful owner. I know it isn’t the art you originally came seeking, but I suspect Luka disposed of the Stoltz family art decades ago. It was just the excuse that kept your two fathers meeting every few years.

Knowing your mother was full of secrets, I examined the frame before wrapping the painting and discovered the back of the canvas is two layers thick. I removed the top layer and found the letter that is packed with the painting.

I hope the letter answers questions that Luka and Reuben will not.

Love,

Juliette

Kira studied the painting, which had hung on her bedroom wall until it had been packed away and stored in the basement with the rest of her belongings—which she was now in the process of sorting through as she prepared to sell the house and move to Virginia Beach.

Rand looked at the portrait. “Can I hang this in my study?”

That was the room where he said he did most of his writing, and she liked the idea of it being there, in a private room instead of over the mantel or another visible space. She wished her mother was alive to paint Rand, or a portrait of the two of them. That would be something to display for everyone.

Perhaps it was time she shoved aside her anxieties and resumed painting herself. She would never be as good as her mother, but she could be as good as herself. And she enjoyed it.

“I’d like that.” She set the painting aside and picked up the letter. It was a simple folded piece of paper with her name on the outside in her mother’s neat handwriting.

As they’d done in Malta when she read the letters from Luka, she sat on Rand’s lap, secure in his embrace, before she dared to unfold the page. She wasn’t alone in this.

“The date at the top is three months before she died.” It didn’t surprise her. The portrait was one of the last works her mother completed before she got sick.

“Would it be easier if I read it to you?” Rand asked.

She considered the offer, then shook her head. “No. I can do it.”

She held the letter so he could read over her shoulder.

Dearest Kira,

I have no idea if you will ever find this, but I have to hide it in a place your dad won’t think to look. He is terrified of what would happen if you tried to seek out your brother and father and wants only to protect you, but I think you have reached the age where you have the right to know.

You were born Kira Lukovna Kulika, and are three years and two months younger than you believe yourself to be. We did this to protect you. From my mistakes and from Conrad’s, but mostly to prevent your father from finding you and bringing us back to his home.

I never loved him, but my marriage to Luka was never supposed to be about love. It was a soviet union of my father’s power and Luka’s rank in the Communist Party. Still, I loved my babies. Reuben and Angelina. But Angelina…I will never believe she was taken from us by accident.

Kira let out a soft sob as she thought of those empty cradles. There had been another baby. Kira had an older sister. One who hadn’t survived.

She remembered Luka’s words that first day. He’d mentioned multiple births.

Rand’s arms tightened around her. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She swiped away her tears, took a deep breath, and continued reading.

I won’t share the details of Angelina’s death with you. I can’t, even after more than thirty years. Just know that when you were born three months later, my life was one of constant fear and vigilance. And wild, fierce love for you.

Then I met Conrad and saw a way out. If I could give him the information he needed, he could cut a deal with the CIA for me—and for you. He was always a loyal American, working for his country. I’m the one who betrayed mine.

Things got urgent when Luka caught me listening in on his meetings. He hurt me.

And he hurt you.

I was so terrified. I’d lost Angelina. I—I really don’t have words for this. Even now. Just know I was desperate and told Conrad I would take any deal he could make as long as it got you and me out.

Please understand, I didn’t use Conrad. I did love him deeply and know he loved me—and you. He’s been the best father for you I could imagine. And he loved you so much, he kept up the spy games with Luka for decades so the man would never grow suspicious.

I’ve spent the last thirty years both thankful for and regretting the choice I made to abandon my son to save my remaining daughter. How many times did you find me crying in the basement? I always went to the basement because, with no piece of my lost children to hold on to, all I had were my paintings. The memories of them.

Kira swallowed, realizing that some of the baby portraits were of Angelina, not her.

I remember you asking me why I was so sad, and all I could tell you was, don’t look back. For your sake, I had to only look forward. But now, I’m dying, and I can’t bear the idea of never telling you the truth of your life, but I can’t betray Conrad and all he has done for us. Just know that everything—every awful thing—your dad and I did was to protect you.

I truly think you would have died in the same way Angelina did. It was sheer luck that I stopped Reuben from taking you out in the boat like he did Angelina. I was so terrified that day, but it sparked an idea for how we could make our escape.

Much as I hated large bodies of water since Angelina’s death, we had to take a boat to Birgu. From there, the CIA would smuggle us out. Our disappearance was planned. Scuba divers were in place. We stopped in the right area and drifted while I counted down the minutes. I was braced for the swim, but scared because you didn’t know how. Still, nothing prepared me to see Reuben push you overboard.

Kira sprang to her feet, horror washing through her. She’d believed him. She’d sat across from him and cried while he told her what their mother had done.

How he must’ve enjoyed watching her sob.

Rand stood but kept a few feet’s distance between them. “I don’t know what to do. Can I hold you?”

She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know. I should finish the letter, I guess.”

She grabbed it from where it had fallen to the floor.

Please, Kira, know that I love you, and I never stopped loving my son. But I made the choice for us both to leave him and your father because neither of us was safe with them. I hope Reuben has grown into a good man, but I fear his father isn’t an example there. Conrad has used his visits to Malta to keep an eye on Reuben over the years and says he is fine, but I fear he’s lying to make me feel better about my choices.

I’m so sorry to share this with you in a way that means I can’t hold you when you receive this news. I hope you are not alone, that you have Conrad or a friend or a partner as you read this. But know that even if I’m long gone, you will always have me. I love you my sweet Kira, and I’m so proud of the woman you have become, even though adulthood was forced on you far earlier than it should have been.

Love,

Mom

She set down the letter and faced Rand, who opened his arms. She stepped into them and pressed her face to his chest and cried. “Do you think it’s true, about Angelina? I mean, if she died while Mom was pregnant with me, Reuben would have been only five. How could it be anything but an accident?”

“We’ll never know for certain,” Rand said. “It’s possible your mother was irrational, and it tainted how she viewed Reuben after that.”

“The eternal chicken and egg question. There’s no doubt Reuben resented me, even when we were children. He said as much.” She touched her ribs. The bruises had finally faded, and thankfully, none of her ribs had cracked from his kicks. “And he more than made it clear how much he wished I’d stayed dead.”

She raised her head to meet Rand’s gaze. “I wonder if that’s why he didn’t want me talking to Luka. Was he afraid I did—or would—remember the truth? Would it have changed things with his father if Luka knew Mom and I were fleeing Reuben as much as him?”

“I’m sorry you’ll never be able to know the truth there.”

“I am too. And I’m not. Maybe it’s better this way. I’ll never know if my mom unjustly accused and feared her son or if she was right to protect me from him. I wish I’d known about Angelina.” She shook her head. “Nothing has changed, really. My brother and all my parents are still dead. I’ve now gained a sister, but she isn’t even a memory.”