In the dim light of your room, hunger gnawed at you, but it was overshadowed by a deeper ache—the hollow space where your family’s love should have been. You’d spent the past week isolated, punished for a crime you didn’t commit, locked away without food or drink. Natasha’s lie had been cruel, yet what hurt more was how easily everyone believed her, how quickly they turned away in disgust.

At first, you’d cried out, hoping someone would hear and come to your side. But as the days passed and the silence deepened, your cries faded. You let the last thread of hope slip away, embracing the loneliness for the sake of your dignity. If they didn’t want you, then you wouldn’t want them either.

Unbeknownst to you, Daniil, your father, was reviewing security footage in his study. By chance, he saw it—the moment Natasha slipped into your room, her eyes flashing with malice as she placed her necklace in your drawer. His heart sank as he realized the truth. For the first time, he was forced to confront the years of neglect, the weight of his own indifference, and the undeserved pain he’d allowed to fill your life.

The next morning, the lock on your door clicked open. Daniil stood there, his face conflicted, regret softening the usual hardness in his eyes. Behind him, your brothers lingered, shame evident in their expressions. Daniil took a tentative step forward, his voice low and strained. “I was wrong,” he murmured, the words foreign yet sincere. “I’m…sorry.”

There was a heaviness to their apology, an unspoken promise to change. But whether or not you could trust it, whether or not you could forgive—that choice rested in your hands now.