Love Me, Don't Fix Me

Andrew shut his laptop slowly, letting out a sigh that had been building in his chest all morning.

Another assignment done. Another temporary distraction conquered. But no matter how many tasks he buried himself in, no matter how many extra hours he pulled at the café, the ache didn't go away. If anything, the silence that followed was louder, heavier—crushing.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Bloodshot, gritty, dry. He hadn't slept properly in days. Not since Nova.

Even now, her name stung his chest like a fresh wound.

He had tried everything—drowning himself in textbooks, volunteering for back-to-back shifts, organizing his room, scrubbing his bathroom tiles. Anything that could keep him from thinking. But the second he paused—like now—it all came rushing back.

The memory of her.

Her laughter echoing in his apartment as they played games in the arcade. Her teasing voice daring him to pick out more snacks than she could carry. Her eyes lighting up with that radiant spark every time she saw him, as if he were the best part of her day.

He missed her. God, he missed her.

And he would be lying to himself if he said he didn't love her. Because he did. With everything he had. With a love he hadn't thought himself capable of after what life had done to him. With a love that terrified him because it meant opening up parts of himself he'd kept locked away for a decade.

He stood up and walked into the tiny kitchen. The cabinets were still fully stocked, filled to the brim with groceries. Most of it was untouched. Nova had insisted on getting everything—snacks, essentials, things he didn't even know he needed. He opened a cupboard and saw a half-used jar of peanut butter. She had made him try it with banana slices, claiming it was "elite-level comfort food." He had laughed, told her it was ridiculous. Then tried it. Then loved it.

Now, just looking at it made his throat tighten.

His fingers brushed against the label, and he blinked back the sting behind his eyes.

She had come into his life like a warm breeze in the dead of winter—sudden, unexpected, but desperately needed. She had been kind. Soft. Bright. She had wrapped her fingers around his and offered him something he never thought he could have again—peace.

Unconditional love.

She hadn't cared that he was broke. That he worked in a run-down café. That his life was small and quiet and filled with shadows. She saw him. The real him. And still, she stayed. Still, she smiled at him like he was enough.

And he had ruined it.

No. Her father had ruined it.

Andrew gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles going white.

He could still hear the sound of Nikolai's voice, cold and unapologetic, laced with venomous truth.

The rage that boiled inside him was indescribable. Not just at Nikolai Volkov—but at fate. At life. At how the universe had taken everything from him and then, cruelly, handed him her.

The daughter of the man who had murdered his family.

He had finally found happiness, found light, found love. And it had come wrapped in the bloodline of his nightmares.

How could he be with her now?

Every time he looked at Nova, he saw the fire.

He saw his brother screaming, running into the pool, flames licking at his back. He heard his mother's cries, his father's voice pleading from upstairs, the chains that bound them to the bedpost as smoke devoured their room. He remembered the smell—burning wood, melting plastic, human flesh.

He had lived with the weight of survivor's guilt his whole life. Had spent every birthday wondering why he made it and they didn't. He had hated the silence that followed the tragedy, the way the police brushed it off, the neighbors whispered but never acted, the way justice was never served.

And now he knew why.

Nikolai Volkov.

A name that explained everything.

And Nova… she was part of that name. That blood. That legacy.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling a shaky breath.

None of this was her fault. He knew that. Nova hadn't set the fire. Nova hadn't pulled the trigger. She had been a child, just like he was. But knowing that didn't erase the truth. It didn't change what happened. And it sure as hell didn't change the fact that loving her now felt like a betrayal to his brother's memory.

How could he smile in her presence, knowing who her father was?

How could he kiss her, touch her, fall asleep next to her, when the man who raised her was the reason his family burned?

He couldn't.

Even though every cell in his body wanted to run to her, to hold her, to tell her he didn't mean the words he'd said… he couldn't. Because they were true. And love built on ashes wasn't love at all. It was a ticking time bomb.

He buried his face in his hands and let out a breathless sob.

He missed her.

And he hated that he missed her.

He hated that even now, even after everything, he still wanted to protect her. Still wanted to be with her. Still wanted to believe in a world where they could be happy.

But they couldn't.

Not with the past sitting like a ghost between them.

Not while her father's sins still screamed in his memories.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

---------

The hallway outside Nova's room was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down like a weight. Elara stood there, one hand resting on her slightly swollen belly, the other hovering just inches from the door. She exhaled softly and knocked twice—no response.

"I'm coming in," she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaked open without resistance. It wasn't locked.

Inside, the room was dark except for the dim sliver of afternoon light that slipped between the parted curtains. Nova sat curled up at the edge of her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, face buried, motionless. She looked like a porcelain doll left out in the cold—silent, breakable.

Elara stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She crossed the room quietly, her bare feet barely making a sound on the polished wooden floors. She sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of Nova's blanket.

"Nova," she said softly, her voice filled with the kind of maternal concern only a mother could carry.

Nova didn't look up. She didn't move. Her silence screamed louder than any words could.

"I know you probably don't want to hear anything right now," Elara continued, her gaze resting on her daughter's frail form. "But I need you to hear this—what your father did... that was his choice. His burden. Not yours. None of this is your fault, baby."

There was a long pause. Then, Nova whispered hoarsely, "But it's affecting me, Mom. It's ruining everything. Yes, he's the culprit, but I'm the one suffering for it. Andrew won't talk to me. He doesn't even want to see me…"

Elara felt her heart break a little more. She reached over, gently smoothing back a strand of Nova's hair.

"I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts." She took a deep breath. "I hate what your father does too. There was a time I begged him to choose—between me and the bratva. I told him he couldn't have both. He said he couldn't choose, Nova. That the bratva raised him, built him, shaped him. It was his family's legacy before it ever became a life of bloodshed. At the time, I thought that was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard… but the truth is, it's not easy to give up the thing that forged you."

Nova slowly raised her head, her eyes puffy and red, glassy with fresh tears.

"I'm not saying what he did was right. God knows it wasn't," Elara continued, her voice tightening. "That fire… that little boy… it was wrong. It's still wrong. But in your father's world, betrayal means extermination. No loose ends. No bloodlines left behind that might seek revenge. It's harsh. It's cruel. But that's the only way they know how to survive."

Nova blinked rapidly, trying to hold back another wave of tears. "He killed a child, Mom. Andrew's little brother. And now… Andrew hates me for being his daughter."

Elara nodded. "I know. And you have every right to be angry. But listen to me, baby. If only Andrew's parents had died, he would've spent his life wondering why he survived. He would've blamed himself—felt guilty for living. That kind of guilt... it festers. It kills slowly."

"But what's the point of all this now?" Nova choked out. "He still hates me. He said he never wants to see me again. That I remind him of the fire every time he looks at me."

Elara reached for her hand, gently lacing their fingers together. "Then we try to fix what we can. You start by talking to your father. It won't make everything right, but it's a start. And as for Andrew…" she gave Nova a small smile, "I'll talk to him."

Nova's eyes widened. "You will?"

"Of course I will," Elara said confidently. "And trust me, I'm not leaving that boy alone until he listens. I've charmed ambassadors and talked my way out of Bratva meetings—Andrew doesn't stand a chance."

A breathy laugh escaped Nova's lips. It was the first sound of light in what felt like forever. "You're kind of scary when you're determined."

"I prefer the word persuasive," Elara said with a wink. "Besides, you're my daughter. Do you really think I'd let the man you love walk away without a fight?"

Nova looked down at their joined hands, and for a moment, the fog of heartbreak lifted.

"You're the best, Mom."

"I know," Elara said teasingly. Then her voice softened again. "Now go. Talk to your dad. Let's at least start picking up the pieces. You don't have to forgive him all at once, and you're allowed to be hurt. But we'll figure this out. Together."

Nova nodded slowly. "I'll try."

"Good." Elara squeezed her hand. "And I'll go see if Andrew is ready to listen."

"You'll tell me everything after, right?"

"Absolutely. Full debrief, dramatic reenactment and all."

Nova chuckled again, the sound shaky but real.

"Deal," she said.

"Deal," Elara echoed, standing up and brushing invisible dust from her dress. "Now go show your father that you inherited your spine from both of us."

Nova wiped her face, took a deep breath, and nodded. For the first time in days, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things could still be salvaged.

And Elara?

She had a boy to visit.