A man I’m absolutely keeping. Bubble-wrapping. And labeling Fragile: Mine.
I close the laptop.
Sit back.
My hands are shaking.
From rage.
From need.
From the absolute certainty that if I don’t bring him home soon, Oksana is going to destroy him.
I grab my phone.
Open my calendar.
Tomorrow.
It has to be tomorrow.
I know his routine.
Wednesdays he goes to the farmer’s market.
Buys fresh produce for the weekend pastries.
He always stops at the flower stall.
Always buys sunflowers.
They remind him of his grandmother, he told Noah once.
He puts them on his counter and pretends she’s still there to see them.
I can work with that.
I’ll be at the flower stall.
Soft. Sweet. Surprised.
“Oh, excuse me, do you know if these are fresh?”
He’ll smile. He’ll help.
He’s too kind not to.
And that’s when I’ll have him.
I stand.
Walk to my closet.
Pull out the dress I’ve been saving.
Pale yellow. Soft cotton. Buttons down the front.
Delicate. Innocent.
