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Chapter Two, The Russian Princess
Margot Bloom had always been a teacher.
She started her career in a kindergarten classroom, devoting her days to tiny hands, messy art projects, glitter glue, alphabet songs, and the magic of first discoveries.
During high school, she volunteered in after-school programs, daycares, and internships to get a head start, always drawn to the quiet reward of helping children grow. She completed them all, every other one she could, followed by an exchange program in Sweden, where she met Igor.
Margot never told Amelia about that part. About how they met. About where. Or how different he used to be. Why she had been dragged to Russia by him, and she pulled her mother along. They didn't speak about him. She didn't see the point in revisiting the past. Maybe because she didn't want to admit how far he'd strayed from the man she once knew.
Nostalgia was something she could no longer afford. People changed. Igor had changed. Remembering who he once was only made the reality harder to live with. So, she kept her eyes forward, toward whatever better version of the future she could manage for her daughter.
A little after Amelia was born, Margot slowly worked her way through the school system—moving from elementary to middle, then high school. She was a natural. Patient, warm, firm when she had to be. Students adored her. She was the kind of teacher who brought extra snacks for kids who forgot lunch and remembered everyone's birthdays. She wasn't just good at her job; she was meant for it. She was gentle and a mother.
But Igor didn't see it that way.
It started when he got that job—the one that kept him away from home for hours on end, returning late without explanation. Margot never knew where he went, only that whatever he was doing had swallowed the man he used to be. It was the same job that took them from Russia to California, and then to the small town of Hawkins.
He'd started babbling stuff about how Amelia, a one-year-old at the time, had to be the priority. Not the kind of priority that meant love or care, but control. Safety, in his eyes, meant isolation. No school. No strangers. No influence beyond what he deemed acceptable.
So Margot gave up her job. Her classroom. Her coworkers. All of it. She found herself at home, not by choice but out of necessity. She had given up a lot—her career, her independence, her home—for a man who'd vanished long before he ever physically left. All she could do now was try to protect the one thing that still mattered: Amelia.
She became her daughter's at-home teacher. She taught her everything: how to read, spell, how to draw and think, and dream. By the time Amelia was five, she could read in both English and Russian. Margot had bought her a box of children's books from the clearance section at Book Nook, forgotten titles with cracked spines and folded pages. But Igor had to review and approve every single one. Three times each. A slow read.
