That part, at least, feels honest.
War is coming. Everyone in this house acts like it isn’t, but I hear enough through walls, half-open doors, and careless remarks in hallways to know better. Lev’s place here exists because Dmitri needs what he knows. That can change. Loyalty has a short shelf life when bodies start dropping. Mine isn’t much safer. Dmitri brought me here because Lev asked and because I’m useful if things go bad. Useful is not the same thing as secure.
Pregnant is not useful.
Pregnant is a means for leverage. Being pregnant is a weakness. It’s just one more soft spot for enemies to press a knife into.
I close my eyes and try to imagine it. A child.
The word lands harder than pregnant. Pregnancy sounds medical, temporary, and measurable. A child is a crib and tiny socks and a voice calling for me in the middle of the night. A child is a face I haven’t seen and would already kill for.
“Oh God.”
My throat burns. For one crazy second, I think of rushing out of this room and telling Lev, and my body locks up. He would look at me like I handed him the moon. I know he would. And then, he would start planning.
Security. Escape routes. Who needs to know. Who absolutely cannot know. He’d move three steps ahead before I even catch my breath, and I can’t bear that right now. I can’t bear his joy. I can’t bear his fear either.
Mostly, I can’t bear hearing it out loud.
Because I still have no idea if I can ever forgive him for what he did.
So I stand with unsteady knees, wrap the test in toilet paper, and hide it at the bottom of the bathroom trash under tissues and an empty shampoo packet, like a child hiding evidence of some candy they’ve scavenged.
I rinse my face again and leave the bathroom like I haven’t just split my life into before and after.
The rest of the day turns vicious.
Every smell turns my stomach. Beef broth in the kitchen makes me gag. Somebody down the hall burns toast, and I have to duck into an empty office until my belly settles. By late afternoon, nausea sits in me like a threat.
Katya catches me leaning against the counter alone and narrows her eyes. “You look awful.”
“Thank you.”
“You know that’s not an insult.”
“I know. I didn’t sleep.”
“That man is going to ruin your face.”
I almost laugh. That man has done a lot worse than that.
Katya reaches for my wrist. “Do you want tea?”
“No.”
“Soup?”
“Absolutely not.”
She cocks her head to the side. “You’re impossible today.”
“Go bother Sasha,” I reply, jerking my head down the hall.
“She’s less entertaining.”
I manage a dry look. “That’s because Sasha has boundaries.”
Katya grins, then eyes me for another second. “You sure you’re okay?”
