Amber studied me for another long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay. I don't understand all of it. I'm not sure I want to understand all of it. But I can see that you mean it. That this is real for you." She squeezed my hand. "I just want you to know that I'm here. Whatever happens, whatever you need—I'm here."
I felt tears prick at my eyes. Pregnancy hormones, probably. Or maybe just the relief of being seen by someone who'd known me before all of this.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me. Just promise me you'll call if you need help. Real help, not vague texts about 'complications.'"
"I promise."
She pulled me into another awkward hug, and this time I didn't care about the logistics. I just held on and let myself be held.
***
Rodion appeared an hour later, right on cue.
He was charming, as promised. Attentive, warm, solicitous in a way that felt genuine rather than performed. He asked about Amber's daughter Lily, about her work, about the train ride in from Connecticut. He made her laugh with a story about his first attempt at American small talk, which had apparently involved accidentally insulting a senator's wife at a charity gala.
By the time she left, Amber was halfway to convinced.
"He's not what I expected," she admitted as I walked her to the elevator.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone colder. More obviously dangerous." She glanced back toward the living room, where Rodion had retreated to give us privacy. "He looks at you like you hung the moon."
"He's good at looking."
"No, this was real. Trust me—I've been married for twelve years. I know the difference between performance and genuine adoration." She smiled, a little reluctantly. "I still have questions. A lot of questions. But I believe you're happy. And that's enough for now."
"Thank you, Amber."
"Call me. Regularly. And send pictures when the baby comes."
"I will."
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. At the last moment, she turned back.
"Keira?"
"Yes?"
"I'm proud of you. For letting yourself have this. I know how hard that must have been."
The doors closed before I could respond, and I stood there in the hallway, my hand on my belly, her words echoing in my head.
Letting myself have this.
That was what it came down to, wasn't it? Not the violence or the danger or the impossible circumstances. The hardest part had been letting go. Letting someone in. Letting myself want something I'd spent years convinced I didn't deserve.
***
That evening, Rodion found me by the window, watching the sun set over the city.
