This is a door finally opening. A new chapter unfolding.
I breathe in, deep and steady, before dragging my suitcase to the corner of the room over by my door. There isn’t much inside, butit holds the few pieces of me that I’m bringing with me into this new beginning.
I glance back at my room where my phone charger is still plugged into the outlet. A half-finished water bottle sits on my nightstand, and my friends’ group chat is pinging in the background with Friday night plans.
But none of it feels quite real anymore. Not compared to what’s coming next.
This chance—this wild, ridiculous, life-changing chance—might actually be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
All I have to do now is grab it and hold on for dear life.
My friends insiston seeing me off at the airport in a rather touching farewell.
I didn’t expect them to make such a big deal out of it, but as soon as we convene just before the security checkpoint, I realize they were never going to let me get on a plane without some kind of fanfare. There are balloons—silver and pink, one already deflated from being slammed in a car door when we were arguing about leaving Declan’s car at the traveler drop-off—and a sad little card with all of their heartfelt messages scribbled inside.
Alia cries before we even hug.
It’s all so damn touching, it wrecks me a little more than I thought it would.
Alia lets me go, eyes a little glassy. “You'd better text us every day. Or at least send us pictures so we know you're not dead. And you'd better tell me about all the hot Russian guys you meet over there so I can live vicariously through your steamy, Slavic sexcapades.”
“I will,” I promise, laughing through my own unshed tears.
Nina’s lower lip is already trembling when she practically folds me into a bear hug and holds me tight like she can’t decide if she wants to cling to me forever or go with me or break my back so I miss my flight.
“Don’t forget about us, okay?”
I squeeze her back, just as hard. “Would never dream of it.”
Declan’s the last to hug me. He doesn’t say much. He just pulls me into a hug that’s tighter than I expect, his arms locking around me, anchoring me to this moment—to this place.
His chin rests against my hair for a beat longer than I’m ready for, and when he pulls back, there’s a strange look in his eyes. It’s not exactly sadness but something close to it. This weirdly feels like our final goodbye.
“Make sure to let us know when you land,” he says, giving me a crooked, wary smile.
I force myself to swallow back my feelings and smile. “Of course.”
I’m going to miss all of them. More than they probably will ever know. But this is something Ihaveto do. Not just for my current self but hopefully, to set up my future. There’s no shame in working a dead-end job for the rest of my life to make ends meet, but what if something else is out there waiting for me instead?
They hug me one last time before waving me off as I enter the line to get through security. I clutch my passport like a lifeline as I reach my gate and settle in for the long thirty minutes I have before boarding.
My stomach churns—nerves, mostly, though the slice of pizza I snagged from one of the cafes before clearing TSA probably isn’t helping. I sink into a seat furthest from the boarding door and pull my backpack into my lap, hands fumbling for the manila envelope Miss Dori gave me during our final meeting. The information packet for the family I’m going to be staying with for the next six months
I flip it open and run my fingers along the pages. Everything’s neatly typed and color-coded.
The Sorokin Family.
One daughter:Yulia, age eleven.
One father:Sergei, listed as a “private international businessman”.
Whatever that means…
There’s a photo of Yulia paperclipped to the top of her profile. She’s cute—big blue eyes, flushed red cheeks, light brown hair that looks almost dirty blonde, and a shy smile that makes her look younger than her age. There’s a subtle nervousness in her expression that I recognize almost immediately. She looks like a kid who’s been through a lot.
I’d seen that same look in my own eyes too many times to count during my own childhood.
Flipping the page to the next one, there’s no photo of her father. Just a brief note that reads,Mr. Sorokin has elected not toprovide a photograph at this time due to privacy concerns. You will be picked up at the Moscow airport by a member of his household staff.
