It’s stupid to miss him this much. He hurt me, and I doubt he’ll ever apologize for it. I know he isn’t going to fix it. He made it very clear where he stood, and I know he isn’t going to wake up tomorrow and change his mind. I should hate him, go scorched earth on him, but I just don’t have it in me.
I slump onto the couch and stare at the darkened TV screen until I can’t stand the quiet anymore. I grab my phone and hesitate before dialing Kelly. Our last call kind of imploded my relationship, but I know she was just looking out for me.
“There you are,” she answers. “You really freaked me out yesterday.”
“Sorry. It was just a lot of information to process,” I tell her, honestly. “I needed some time to figure out how to handle what I read.”
“I’m here for whatever you need,” she says gently. “Do you need a place to stay? My apartment is small, but you’re always welcome to the couch.”
“No, I’m okay,” I say, even though I have to wipe away tears at the offer. “I just wanted you to know that I’m safe and that I took your warning to heart.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she coos. “You sound miserable. You really liked him, didn’t you? God, I feel like such a bitch. I didn’t tell you any of that to hurt you.”
“I know.” I nod, even though I know she can’t see me. “I was being stupid and I needed someone to tell me that. I’m glad it was you.”
“You aren’t stupid for falling for someone charming,” she says, gentle now. “We’ve all been there, Molly. I mean, not exactly there. I’ve never dated a mob boss before, but I’ve definitely had my fair share of bad dick. Men are the worst!”
“They are.” I can’t help but laugh.
We talk for a little while longer, about nothing in particular. It just feels good to talk to someone who’s connected to my old life. Part of me wonders if I’m ever going to see Kelly again. If I have to suddenly disappear into the night, probably not, but I try not to think about that.
When we hang up, I can’t help but open my camera roll and start swiping through. A lot of my photos are just screenshots of funny memes and images I’ve seen online. I also have a few saved images of lesson ideas for nonverbal children. Once I get past those, though, I see pictures of nursery palettes I’d been considering. There are a handful of pictures of Samuil and me that nearly rip my heart out. There’s a photo of my first ultrasound.
Next to that, I see a thumbnail of a shared video that I never got around to watching. I kept meaning to, but I was too overwhelmed by it all. It’s from the day Samuil and I saw our baby for the first time. We heard their heartbeat and fell in love with them right then. Samuil filmed it.
My thumb trembles as I hitplay. The shaky recording begins with the screen showing a small, curled shape. The heartbeat echoes in the room, fast and strong. My voice catches in the recording. A nervous little giggle escapes me as the tech warns me about the pressure of the wand.
I hear Samuil’s quiet breath next to the microphone, the faint rustle of fabric. Then there’s the soft whisper of a word. I hadn’t even heard him say it that day. It’s not in English, and I have to go back and watch the clip a few times to understand what he’s saying. I turn the volume up and try to phonetically type it out, but I can’t get it quite right. Finally, I just try to say it in my translation app the way he did.
“Lyubimaya.”
The translator buffers for only a moment before returning a single word.
Beloved.
The tears come fast and hot. They roll down my cheeks before I can stop them. I press my hand over my mouth to contain the sound. He loves this child. He always has, from the first moment he heard their heartbeat.
But none of that matters now, because he’ll always choose his damn Bratva over us.
I close my eyes and try to remember what it felt like to believe we could make a family together. I try to remember the warmth of his hand over mine, the awe in his face when he first saw our child on the screen.
It all feels fleeting in the face of that headline. I’ll never be able to unsee the blood or the bodies lying dead on the street. I’ll never get Lena’s smiling face, so similar to Anya’s, out of my head.
Anya endured something that no child ever should, and it was Samuil’s fault. No matter how deeply I feel for Samuil or how much I want him to be in our child’s life, there’s no getting around that. He’s the reason Anya doesn’t have a mother, and he’s willing to put our child in that same situation.
I turn my phone off.
I must have fallen asleep on the couch because the next thing I know, the room is darker. My neck aches and my eyes are burning from all the tears I silently cried. I drag myself upright and realize I need to get some air. I need more than just a long workout in the gym, I need an actual walk outside.
I put on shoes and a coat and slip quietly out the door. I expect Samuil’s security to swarm me and stop me, but no one does. I don’t give it much thought, I’m just glad to finally have a little independence for a change.
When I get down to the street, I realize the city feels different. Maybe it’s just because I’m in a much nicer part of town than I’m used to, or maybe it’s because I’ve barely left the apartment in weeks. Everything just feels harsh and too loud. The world suddenly seems cruel and unforgiving. I hate it.
I walk aimlessly for a few blocks, trying to clear my head. The cold air stings my cheeks and makes my eyes water all over again. My thoughts won’t settle. They spin and crash into each other like waves during a storm.
At the corner near a coffee shop, a homeless man sits on the ground with a cardboard sign. His hands shake when he reaches for his cup. My heart aches for him. The world is so unfair to those of us born without any advantages. I dig into my pocket for a few dollars.
“Here,” I say gently.
