My world unraveled shortly after. On a Friday before Labor day Papa came home early. Instead of greeting us, he walked up to Mama, and, narrowing his eyes, shook a piece of paper. His face was pale, brow furrowed.

“You lied to me!” He hissed. I could tell things were serious and immediately paused the game, though that morning I’d just reached a new level, where Stewart got to a magical forest.

“What’s this?” Mama put her hands on her hips.

“Proof that you brought a bastard into my home. Two of them, in fact, but I knew about one.”

“How dare you?”

“Is Ryder my son? Look at me!” Phil was screaming now, his eyes bulging. “You lied to me! You made me pay for you and two bastards to move to America. I sacrificed everything for you! Everything!”

“Philip, what are you talking about?” Mama blinked fast.

“I’m not falling for your lies!” Papa shook the paper again. “I tested him and he’s not my son!” Papa threw a look full of disdain in my direction. "DNA testing doesn't lie."

“What?” Mama stepped back.

“I guess you didn’t expect this?!” Papa pointed at the paper: “This is proof Ryder is not my son.”

“Of course he is your son. You love each other.” Mother shook her head in protest.

“Out! I want all of you out of my house. And you have to pay me back. Every single penny I spent on you.”

Mama stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Out of my house! Now!” Papa punched the wall. “Out!” He stomped his feet and moved at her, as if about to strike her, too.

“No.” Mama said quietly. “I have rights.”

“What?” Papa cackled. “What rights? You are only here because you lied to me. I will squash you like a bug. Go back to Russia, where you belong. And take your bastards with you.”

“No.” Mama raised her head up high. “I know about the affair.”

Papa’s face turned ashen.

“Vlada saw you two together. You and your cousin.” Mama swallowed hard. “I followed you to one of your swims and I know where you’ve been going every Sunday. I have proof.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“You are lying.” Papa mumbled, his voice weak. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He then stepped back and ran out of the house. The second he left, Mama collapsed on the couch.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

”Nothing, Rodion, go play.”

”Mama, what happened? Is Papa coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mama, maybe you need to drink something for your blood pressure.” I offered the solution I’d heard so many times before.

“Oh, yes. Good idea.” Mama got up and walked to the kitchen cabinet. She poured a shot of cognac and downed it.

***

As well as I remember my first year in America, my third year is a blur. All I remember is Stewart the fox and the many hours I spent in front of my console. Stewart became my best friend. Vlada got me a toy fox, and he was with me at all times. Naturally, I named him Stewart. I took him to school and hid him in my backpack during the day. Each night, I would confide in him before falling asleep.

“Stewart, I think it’s my fault Papa went away.” I told him one night.

“Don’t worry, Rodion.” Stewart flashed a smile. “I’ll help you. And Papa will come back soon.”

“When?” I shook the fox’s paw. “Mama cries whenever I ask her about Papa. What do I do?”

“Just keep playing. Things will be fine.” Stewart yawned and fell asleep, indicating that it was time for me to go to sleep, too.

Mama started keeping strange hours. She constantly complained of insomnia and stayed up late into the night, sitting in the kitchen all alone. Sometimes she called Auntie Lena. Some mornings, Sergei and I would find Mama still awake at six in the morning, and she would yawn and go to bed, while we got ready for school. Sergei walked me to the bus stop, then went to Allderdice.

I never saw Papa again. He never came to say goodbye.

I was his son for two years and then I wasn’t. I don’t know if he ever cried, if he ever missed me. I know that I did. I cried my eyes out. That was another memory of that year. I ached to see Papa again. My seven-year-old mind could not grasp what had happened. I connected Papa’s disappearance to the Lab, but I couldn’t quite understand why. All I knew was that it was my fault. I was the reason for Papa’s departure, and for Mama’s ill health. I had done something terrible.

I loved Papa and ached to see him again. Every day, right around the time Papa would come home from work, I’d sit by the door and wait. I’d stop the game, put the toy fox next to me, and the two of us listened for the sound of Papa’s car pull up. I expected Papa to walk through the door, to give me a hug, sit down next to me on the couch and ask me about my day. And when, day after day, he didn’t, I wept.

And then, one day, I heard the sound of a motor outside. I leaped to my feet, expecting to see Papa, but instead I saw Grandma Oxana climb up the steps, breathing hard.

“Is your mother at home?” She fixed her gaze on me. I let out a yelp and ran to the kitchen to warn Mama. But Mama was already standing in the living room, her face stern.

“Why did you destroy my boy’s life?” Grandma Oxana yelled out, arms on her hips.

“Get out of here!” Red blotches appeared on Mama’s face.

“Leave the house. It’s Philip’s. Get out of my boy’s home. You don’t deserve to be here.” Grandma Oxana screeched. She balled her hands into fists and approached Mama. “Freeloader! You don’t deserve to be in America!”

“And you do? What makes you so special?” Mama hissed. “Leave, or I will call the police.”

“You’ll pay for this! One day you will!” Grandma Oxana puffed. She turned around and left.

As soon as the door closed behind Grandma, Mama broke down. She clasped her heart and leaned on the table, as if about to collapse. I was about to suggest for her to drink some cognac, but Mama did it all on her own. She poured a shot and downed it.