Forget us

[Three months earlier]

"Anastasia!" I heard my mother’s voice calling me from downstairs.

I let out a slow sigh, pushing the duvet off my body. "Anastasia!"

For heaven's sake, I’m up. "Coming!" I shouted back.

I pulled on my jeans and threw my hair into a quick bun. In less than seven days, I’d be leaving for university, and the excitement was starting to cloud my mind. I had wanted this so badly; I’d worked day and night to secure my spot, but now, with only a week to go, I was starting to wonder if I could actually handle it.

I remember the day the acceptance letter from NES arrived. It was a gloomy day; a biting wind was scattering fallen leaves across the yard. The weather forecasts had been predicting all sorts of things, but they all boiled down to one thing—rain. My gaze at the storm outside was broken by my mother’s piercing scream. "You’re in!"

That day seemed to last forever. Everyone was happy, of course, except for my father. Aleksei Romanov—my father—thought going to university was nothing more than a waste of time. Our family was well-off; my father owned an antique shop that stayed enviably busy year-round, while my mother had always been involved in charity work.

By all accounts, my place was destined to be in that shop. I was the eldest, and my responsibility toward it was never questioned. Not until the beginning of summer. I told myself that this year I would start over, knowing full well that beginnings are hard. Mine was particularly difficult, and his name was Dad. He was beyond furious. He wouldn’t greet me at breakfast, nor at dinner. He would walk out of the kitchen the moment I stepped in; he would retreat to his room minutes before I arrived home every single day, all summer long. Until today.

After a quick glance in the mirror, I headed downstairs.

"Finally," Mom said, tossing a dish towel over the counter. "How many times do I have to call you? Do you realize your father is coming home in twenty minutes and breakfast isn't even set?" she barked, hurrying toward the table. "Help me."

She handed me a woven basket filled with warm bread. I walked over to the table where Sofia was sitting.

"Relax, it’s just Mom. You know she makes a drama out of nothing," she said with a faint smirk.

Sofia was the youngest member of our family. She had only turned twelve this spring, but she often felt a decade older than me.

"Quiet! Do you want Mom to turn into a real monster?" I whispered through a laugh.

As her giggles echoed through the house, Mom shouted again, "Anastasia, for heaven’s sake, hurry up!"

I nodded and headed back to the kitchen. I grabbed the glasses and arranged them neatly beside each plate. I folded the napkins into triangles and handed them to Sofia.

"Set these." With a slight roll of her eyes, she complied.

"Yes, Miss Anastasia." I smiled softly and headed toward the door. "Mom, Dad’s here."

I could have sworn this day felt special. I found my father taking off his shoes and placing them in the rack.

"Good morning, Dad."

His gaze flickered over me. I wasn't expecting an answer, just like the previous three months.

"Good morning, Anastasia."

He brushed past me with a faint smile. Mom signaled with her eyes for me to sit. I pulled out a chair and sat next to Sofia.

"Is Sergei at practice?" he asked, taking off his blazer.

Sergei was my younger brother—the golden child of the family, essentially.

"Yes," I said, quicker than I intended. He nodded.

"Fine, then. We won’t wait for him. Enjoy your meal," he said, taking a napkin and spreading it across his lap.

My father was a calm man, sometimes defiant, but I could say he was good. No more, no less than good. We ate in silence, punctuated only by a few glances and the occasional smile from Sofia.

"When do you leave, Anastasia?"

The piece of bread I was chewing caught in my throat.

"Sunday," I said clearly.

He checked his watch, then used his napkin to wipe a few crumbs from his lips.

"Fine. Get ready; we’ll go out later to get everything you need. Sofia, you can come with us if you’d like."

Sofia practically lunged off her chair and into his arms, while I sat there, stunned. After three months of waiting, I knew he had finally made peace with my decision. I was happy—truly happy. I stood up slowly, walked over to his chair, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, Dad," I whispered, and then, without waiting for a reply, I headed to my room. My intuition never seemed to fail me.

Because this day was different.