Or at least the illusion of one.
I looked down at my stomach again.
Two red lines.
Proof that something small and fragile was already growing inside me.
Proof that Ruslan’s legacy wasn’t confined to prison walls.
Proof that no matter how much I tried to separate myself from him —
Part of him would always remain inside me.
I pressed my forehead against my knees.
I refuse to let fear dictate the outcome.
This time... I will protect it.
I will carry it.
I will bring this child into the world alive and healthy — no matter what it costs me.
The past had traumatized me so deeply that somewhere along the way, my brain had almost erased the possibility that pregnancy could result in a living baby.
My first experience had ended in blood.
Silence.
Loss.
It had felt like pregnancy equaled death.
But it didn’t.
It couldn’t.
Not every story ended the same way.
Not every body betrayed itself.
Not every outcome was written in tragedy.
I forced myself to stand — legs still shaky, mind racing — and stumbled back into the bedroom.
The room felt too quiet.
Too big.
Too full of memories I didn’t want to revisit.
I climbed onto the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, phone still clutched tightly in my hand like a lifeline.
My fingers moved quickly.
I dialed Petros.
He answered almost immediately.
