He grabbed my hand and walked us to her table. “Mon Dieu,” she breathed before getting to her feet and placing her hands on my face. “Si belle. Tellement comme ma Tatianna . . . So much like my Tatianna.” My chest twisted as the knowledge sank in. She was Tatianna’s mother. My grandmother. She pulled me into her arms and sobbed. The shock faded beneath her soft embrace. All those times I’d dreamed, wanted, needed this familial affection flashed through my mind like still shots, each picture fading away as my chest was sewn back together with a needle and thread. I didn’t even know this woman, but tears fell at the pain of the past and the relief of letting it go. She pulled back to look at me, wonder glistening in her wet eyes. “You are probably shocked right now.” Throat tight, I nodded. “Me too.” She exhaled deeply to compose herself. “Please, sit down with me. I would love to get to know you and answer any questions you have.” Nervously, I glanced at Ronan, who asked, “Ty khochesh’, chtoby ya ostalsya?” Do you want me to stay? I wasn’t sure why he was using Russian or if he even realized he’d done it. Reservation flared behind his eyes, and I had the feeling he might think I would no longer need him now I was reconnected with my family. He was wrong. But this was something I needed to do alone, so I shook my head and spoke in Russian, hoping it would reassure him. “Ne ukhodi daleko.” Don’t go far. He gave me a long look before walking over to the bar. After I took a seat across from my estranged grandmother, she stared at me for a long time, another one of her tears escaping. “I’m sorry. You look so much like Tatianna, it’s shocking.” “T understand.” “You’ve probably figured out by now I am—was—Tatianna’s mother. My name is Estelle.” All I could manage was, “I’m Mila.” “I know. That man”’—she looked toward the bar at Ronan—“got ahold of me and told me a little about you. I did not know you existed until