I'd lived there for almost six months. There had been laughter and tears, dreams and heartbreak.
Now I was leaving it all behind.
Going to start over in a place where no one knew my name.
My hand found my stomach again.
"Baby," I whispered, "we're going somewhere new. Your father won't be there, but I will. And I'm going to give you the best life I can."
Outside, the city lights gradually faded, replaced by empty darkness.
I closed my eyes and let the tears fall silently.
The train carried us forward into the unknown.
Chapter Six
Anna
Five years and eight months later, New York train station.
"Mommy, this place is huge!"
Sofia's excited voice pulled me from my daze. I looked down at her—this five-year-old staring wide-eyed at New York's train station, those brown eyes sparkling with wonder.
"Yes, sweetheart." I stroked her hair—red like mine, standing out in the crowd.
These past five years, I'd worked at the Morning Post in Manhattan. Things started well enough, but everything changed after Sofia was born. No more all-nighters, no more chasing stories across the city, no more being on call like other reporters.
My editor grew increasingly frustrated, assigning me trivial pieces. Eventually he relegated me to a dead-end position, slashing my salary repeatedly. I survived on simple day jobs—handing out flyers, conducting surveys.
Barely scraping by each month, always one step from broke.
Until three months ago, when headquarters reached out.
The Morning Post was expanding, needed experienced reportersat headquarters. The position required no field work—mainly editing and content review—with promotion and salary increase included.
Return to New York? Return to the city where he might be? I hesitated initially.
But Sofia would start elementary school soon. Good schools cost a fortune, far beyond my means. She needed stability, quality education, a real home.
I couldn't continue like this.
For Sofia, I had to seize this opportunity.
So I accepted the transfer and brought my daughter back to this familiar yet foreign city.
"Anna!"
A familiar voice called out. I snapped from my reverie to see Yekaterina weaving through the crowd toward us.
Five years later, she remained stunning—tailored Chanel suit, stiletto heels, latest Hermès bag. But seeing me, those refined eyes immediately brimmed with tears.
"God, you're back!"
She crushed me in a rib-cracking embrace. I hugged back just as fiercely, savoring that familiar warmth.
For five years, she'd helped us in ways I couldn't refuse. Whenever I protested we didn't need assistance, she'd "accidentally" buy excess baby supplies, "stumble upon" discounted children's clothes, "receive" unwanted toys from others. Supporting me through my darkest moments. Without her, I never would've survived.
