Watching the gift, I don’t even know what it is, pinwheel through the air and crack into the window, a Y-shaped lightning bolt splitting the thick safety glass, is one of the scariest things I’ve seen in my entire life.

Maybe that sounds silly, but seeing Thomas lose control absolutely terrifies me. In a blind panic, I turn and run for the door, but somehow, my hand slips and I literally run headfirst into the door before I get it open, the world spinning as I flee.

I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because the next thing I know, I’m outside of Papa’s shop, tears running down my cheeks.

I open the door, and before I can even say a word, Papa sees me, his sewing machine stopping immediately.

Coming around the counter, he wraps me in his arms, murmuring the soft phrases he used to when I was a little girl, little Russian words that gave me comfort then and comfort now.

I’m transported back, back to the days when the world was big and scary, but my Papa was bigger and scarier and could protect me from anything. It’s just that his lap has shrunk, and instead, he holds me as we stand up and I sob my eyes out.

“Mia . . . Mia, darling, what happened?” Papa asks after a few minutes of consoling me.

“He was so angry . . . I didn’t mean to,” I hiccup before fresh sobs rack my body. I feel miserable, like I’ve wrecked everything when all I was trying to do was help.

“Who’s angry, Anastasia?” Papa says, helping me over to a chair and guiding me to sit down. He goes into the back, returning with a bottle of water that he hands to me. “Sip slowly and tell me what happened.”

It’s disjointed, my head’s still not quite working right between my scare and the hit to my head, but I get it all out.

“I . . . Thomas asked me to look into who’s been doing some corporate espionage, hamstringing the company,” I start, holding the bottle against my head where I feel the biggest throb. “While doing that, I went to meet his father, Dennis. Things were weird, but when Dennis reached out to me, I figured it would be good to try and clear some of the air. Oh, Papa, there’s so much between them, really bad stuff, and I . . . I was so scared.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Papa says softly, stroking my hair again. “Mia, whatever happened, you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen.”

I nod and struggle to get the rest of the story out. I explain my first meeting with Dennis Goldstone more, and how Thomas and I exchanged our love vows, and how I just wanted to ease the pressure on Thomas.

“Papa, he’s under so much self-inflicted torture. I couldn’t let him keep punishing himself, driving himself crazy with whatever Dennis has done to him.”

“I understand, but Mia, how’d you get hurt?” Papa says, brushing my hair back. “You have a lump the size of a golf ball on your forehead. Did that man do that? I’ll kill that son of a bitch if you say yes.” The words are quiet but a promise of violence.

Oh, God, I didn’t even realize.

“Papa, no!” I cry out, grabbing his wrists. I explain the disastrous meeting, that I bumped my head and it wasn’t Thomas, but that the sight of him losing his temper terrified me.

Papa stops, and I can see he’s trying not to scoff at me. “Mia . . . tell me the truth. I’ve heard that before—even on the TV, they say it. I walked into a door. I fell down the stairs. I slipped on some ice. You—”

“Papa, I’m serious. I ran into the door when I was running out. I came straight here.”

He eyes me carefully, looking for the slightest sign that I might be lying to him. But finding none, he sighs, hugging me close once again.

“Okay, so let me see if I have this straight. You know your Thomas has bad blood with his father, and yet you set up a meeting without his knowledge, no preparation, no decision on his part on whether he wanted to mend fences, as the Americans say?”

Papa’s words are eerily similar to Thomas’s. Less angry and accusatory, of course, but the gist is the same and I break out in fresh tears.

“Shh, don’t cry, Mia. Though it pains me to say it, I believe you have made a mistake. Perhaps this Dennis even used you to hurt your Thomas. Another pawn in their hurtful game.”

Papa spits air at the ground beside us, and I wonder if he’s cursing Dennis, Thomas, or me. I’m too afraid to ask, because he’s right. I made a terrible mistake.

“Oh, God, I need to go back and apologize.” I move to pull away, but Papa holds me tight.

“No. You may have made a mistake in judgement, but it was with good intentions and hope for a better outcome. Your Thomas reacted violently, like an out of control toddler. I can’t let you go back there. Not now. He may come to see the error of his ways and come groveling back to my princess, but you both need time to settle. Let him calm, Mia. Let both of you calm.” His voice is soothing, hypnotizing me into agreement.

I nod silently.

“Good, now you will stay with me tonight. I do not like the look of that bump on your head and want to keep an eye on you.” He pokes at my forehead with gentle fingers and I wince. “I will wake you every two hours to make sure you can see properly and know who you are.”

“Papa, I have work tomorrow. I have to go home,” I argue even though staying buried under a pile of blankets on Papa’s couch while he makes me soup sounds like just what I need right now.

“Then go home and get your things. But you should call in sick tomorrow. You have a perfect excuse.” Though he looks at my head, most of my pain is coming from a point further south . . . my heart. “You should not work for a man who can’t control himself.”

I look into Papa’s face, and I see a rocky stubbornness that is hard to crack. “Papa, I’m not just going to quit, but I’ll call in sick and maybe take a vacation while I decide what to do, deal? And I don’t mind staying with you for a few days. Let me go back to my place and I’ll pack some things.”

He goes to object, but the door to his shop opens and a customer comes in. Papa takes a deep breath and turns back to me, nodding.

“Fine. I promised Mr. Smith his suit by tomorrow and I have to get to work. But you go, and you come back here. Understood? How is your head?”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “It hurts, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, Mia . . . you have surely gotten yourself into something this time, but if it is right, it will be. Trust and truth are vital parts of love. But so is forgiveness. Let us hope that you both have enough in your heart to give.”

We both close our eyes, exhaling and sending the prayer heavenward.

I get back in my car and see my phone flashing. There are two missed calls . . . both from Thomas.

I decide to take Papa’s advice and give us both a little space. Instead, I start driving, trying not to think about what Papa said but failing miserably, as it seems I’m not really registering what’s in front of me.

A horn blares, and I come to a stop just inches from the side of a UPS truck, the driver glaring at me. “Fuck, lady! Eyes ahead!”

I give him a little wave of apology, wishing it were that easy with Thomas. But I make it to my apartment without further incident, where I start packing my bag with the basics for staying with Papa for a few days.

I don’t even know why I’m doing this, other than not wanting to deny Papa. It’s not like I fear Thomas coming over or anything, but maybe Papa can help me get my head right. Figure out where I go from here.

A whisper in my head tells me that I just want to hide out, run away from the pain, the embarrassment, and the fear. And I wonder if this is what Thomas’s inner demon is like, calling him on his bullshit and not letting him get away with anything. I suspect my inner voice is rather nice and polite compared to Thomas’s though.

My phone rings again, and I’m about ready to ignore it when I see that it’s not Thomas but Izzy instead. She’s supposed to be on at The Gravy Train, and I pick up the call, worried something might be wrong with her.

“Izzy? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Izzy asks, frantic with worry. “Mia, are you okay? Are you at the hospital?”

“What?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean, at the hospital? Why would I be there?”

“Babe, why aren’t you at the hospital?” Izzy asks. “After what happened, I’d be getting checked out while calling the fucking police on his ass!”

“Izzy, you’re making no sense. What are you talking about?”

Her voice is tight as she says, “Flip on Channel Eight. You’re top fucking news.”

I turn to my TV, finding my remote and turning it on, and a picture of Thomas flashes on the screen.