Chapter 18 - The Name She Refused to Lose
Two years after the first wedding, Elara published her first translation.
The novel was modest.
Literary.
Unlikely to become a bestseller.
Elara loved every page.
When the advance copy arrived, she stared at the cover.
Translated by Elara Fagan-Sokolova.
Vadim stood beside her.
“You kept Fagan.”
“Yes.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“It bothers some people.”
“Some people are exhausting.”
He smiled.
Elara traced her name.
For months, she had considered dropping Fagan entirely.
It carried Taras.
Scandal.
Pain.
But it also carried Evelyn.
Natalia.
Celine.
Her own childhood.
Elara finally understood names did not belong exclusively to the worst person who carried them.
So she kept both.
Not because Taras deserved continuation.
Because Elara deserved to decide what her own name meant.
The book release happened in a small Moscow bookstore.
Vadim sat in the back.
Elara suspected he had purchased too many copies.
“How many?” she asked afterward.
“Several.”
“How many?”
“Define several.”
“Vadim.”
“Two hundred.”
She stared.
“There were only eighty copies in the store.”
“I arranged more.”
“You cannot manipulate literary sales.”
“I purchased books legally.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m supportive.”
“You are banned from my next publication.”
“Unlikely.”
Their life had settled into something neither expected.
Vadim still ran enormous companies.
Elara translated.
She taught occasional workshops.
They traveled.
They argued.
Sometimes she hated how protective he became.
Sometimes he hated how stubbornly she insisted she could carry six grocery bags at once.
Their marriage became ordinary in the best possible ways.
Then one evening, Elara found a small package on her desk.
Inside was the silver necklace from Evelyn’s jewelry box.
It had been repaired.
She turned.
Vadim stood in the doorway.
“You fixed it?”
“The clasp was damaged.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I did.”
Elara smiled.
“Come here.”
He approached.
She handed him the necklace and turned her back.
“Will you?”
Vadim fastened it around her neck.
His fingers brushed her skin.
Years earlier, that contact would have made her freeze.
Now she leaned back against him.
“Thank you.”
He kissed her temple.
Then hesitated.
Elara noticed.
“What?”
“There is something we should discuss.”
Her stomach tightened.
“That sounds terrible.”
“It isn’t.”
“Usually people say that immediately before something terrible.”
Vadim handed her an envelope.
Inside were architectural drawings.
A house.
Smaller than the estate.
Warm.
Surrounded by trees.
One entire wall labeled LIBRARY.
Elara looked up.
“What is this?”
“A house.”
“I gathered.”
“I bought the land last year.”
“You bought land without telling me?”
“I bought land. I did not build anything.”
“Why?”
Vadim looked almost uncomfortable.
“I thought we might want something that belongs to us.”
“The estate belongs to you.”
“Exactly.”
Understanding dawned.
“You want us to build a home together.”
“Yes.”
Elara turned through the drawings.
There were two offices.
Guest rooms.
A huge kitchen.
The library.
Then she noticed something.
“Vadim.”
“Yes?”
“There are six bedrooms.”
“Yes.”
She stared.
His expression became cautious.
“I am not implying anything.”
She laughed.
“You look terrified.”
“I learned.”
“Good.”
Children had become a conversation between them over the past year.
Not an expectation.
Not Svetlana’s demand.
A possibility.
Elara wasn’t ready yet.
Maybe eventually.
Vadim genuinely meant it when he said that was enough.
She studied the drawings again.
“Can I change everything?”
“Yes.”
“Even the exterior?”
“Yes.”
“The kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“The library?”
Vadim paused.
“Within reason.”
She laughed.
“Then yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Let’s build it.”
The project took eighteen months.
Elara selected warm stone.
Wide windows.
Built-in shelves.
No formal dining hall.
No rooms designed to impress people she didn’t like.
When construction finished, she and Vadim walked through the empty house.
Sunlight filled the entrance.
Elara opened every door.
No hierarchy.
No smallest bedroom hidden at the end of a hallway.
No room assigned according to importance.
Vadim stood behind her.
“What do you think?”
Elara turned.
“It feels like ours.”
That evening they ate takeout on the floor because no furniture had arrived.
Vadim opened wine.
Elara sat cross-legged beside stacks of books.
“This may be my favorite dinner we’ve had.”
“You have low standards.”
“I married you.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
Then her phone rang.
Taras.
He had been released months earlier.
Their relationship remained cautious.
Limited.
He never called without asking first.
Elara answered.
“Hi.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No.”
“I heard your book was published.”
“It was.”
“I bought a copy.”
She smiled faintly.
“You don’t read Russian literature.”
“I’m trying.”
They spoke for ten minutes.
Nothing dramatic.
Weather.
Natalia.
Celine.
The book.
Before hanging up, Taras said, “Elara?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you kept the name.”
She looked toward Vadim.
“Me too.”
Afterward, Vadim asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
Elara looked around the unfinished house.
Then she touched Evelyn’s necklace.
Her life contained remnants of many things.
Pain.
Love.
Inheritance.
Choice.
None controlled her anymore.
She was not Taras’s discarded daughter.
Not Vadim’s purchased bride.
Not Evelyn’s unfinished hope.
She was Elara.
May you like
And after years of being defined by what others thought she lacked, she finally understood how powerful that was.
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