Page 119 of The Wrong Brother

I close my eyes. That is precisely the problem. Everyone will support the decision—everyone except the people who will have to live with the consequences. Not that I can ask them.

Behind me, I hear a door creak. Emma. She must be up, and I haven’t even started the fire.

The file still exists. The option remains on the table. But is winning worth the cost?

“Thank you,” I murmur absently, already pulling the phone away from my ear. “I’ll be in touch, Stepan.”

Emma is standing behind me when I end the call, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

One moment I’m staring out at the trees, wrestling with choices I would rather not make, and the next I catch her reflection in the window glass. Her curls are mussed from sleep; her expression still soft with exhaustion.

Unfortunately, her eyes are alert. Suspicious. That’s my girl.

“What file?”

Of course she heard that part, though I’ve no idea how. Are the glass windows that thin? And how long has she been up?

I place a hand on her lower back, drawing her back into the cabin and toward the woodstove before answering. The fire has burned down overnight, leaving only a bed of glowing coals beneath the ash. I kneel and add another log, giving myself a few seconds to think.

Emma settles into the chair nearby, but she’s not willing to let this go. I can hear it in the way she says my name.

I sigh. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

Sitting up defensively, eyes narrow, she bites out: “So don’t.Whatfile? Does this have to do with Kate?”

I nod, acutely aware of the stiffness that has settled in my neck out of nowhere. For a long moment, only the crackle of settling wood fills the cabin.

Then I look up.

“The file is on Shannon.”

Emma frowns. The name clearly means nothing to her.

“Who is Shannon?”

The answer sticks briefly in my throat, not because it’s difficult to explain, but because I’ve spent years protecting Kate. And this isEmma—though she still has secrets from me, I know that she could keep this one. That she’ll understand.

Still, old habits die hard. And years later, I’m still angry.

“Kate. She’s Andrei’s daughter.”

The expression on Emma’s face doesn’t change, but her eyes go somewhere far away.

“I—” she manages to get out before blinking rapidly and sliding further down into the chair. “I guess that makes…sense? She calls you uncle, but I guess I thought…”

I nod, understanding what she thought: that I’d adopted a child, or maybe had a sibling or close friend I hadn’t mentioned.

“Oh my God.”

Her brows raise as the full understanding dawns, a hand going to her mouth.

“Oh God. Andrei is Kate’s father!? But how?—”

Before she can finish the question, I interject smoothly, “Shannon is her mother.” Emma licks her lips and leans forward, obviously listening carefully now.

“When Shannon became pregnant, Andrei wanted nothing to do with it. They were young. He had ambitions. A future. A carefully planned life. He was just getting into politics, right at the start, thirteen years ago.”

My jaw pulses, aches, with everything that comes next.