I spend forty minutes asking questions about curriculum, financial aid, and the capstone project requirements. Dr. Reyes answers each one directly, and by the end of the session, she’s given me a preliminary credit evaluation, a program timeline, and an application packet.
We leave the advising office, and Marisol waits until we’re outside in the courtyard before she turns to me. “You’re serious about this.”
“I’ve been serious about it for years. I just never had the space to act on it.” I sit on a bench near a fountain that’s too loud for anyone to overhear us. Fedor adjusts his position to maintain sightline from twelve feet away. I catch a glimpse of one of my other guards casually loitering near a coffee kiosk, sticking out like a sore thumb. “I have something else to tell you.”
Marisol sits beside me and puts down her coffee. “The last time you said that, you told me your boss was dead and you were hiding from the Russian mafia, so I’m bracing.” She grips the arm rest of the bench with a touch of humor but also genuine anxiety.
“I’m pregnant.”
She stares at me. “You’re pregnant.”
“We’re having twins.”
The stare intensifies. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then picks up her coffee, drinks half of it, and sets it down. “Twins, as in two babies…Adrian’s babies?”
“It’s confirmed with an ultrasound yesterday. I’m nine weeks along.”
“Nine weeks.” She does the math the same way I did and frowns. “Was it the same night as…you know…Dominic?” She lowers her voice so much I can barely her say his name.
“Yes, that night. I wish it were a different night, but I can’t change it.”
“The night your boss was murdered, you got pregnant with twins by the man who killed him.” She takes another drink of coffee, letting it all settle. Finally, she says, “Aurora, your life makes telenovelas look boring.”
I laugh because the alternative is crying, and Marisol’s ability to absorb catastrophic information by responding with dark humor is the reason she’s my best friend. “I know.”
“How are you feeling? Physically?”
“Nauseated and terrified, but the OB says everything looks healthy.”
She sips her coffee again, trying and failing to sound only mildly interested. “What does Adrian think?”
“He’s been calm about it, and he’s become more reasonable, but I think maybe my hormone surges scare him.” My grin fades as I look at my hands. “He sat in the ultrasound room, held my hand, and then spent twenty minutes asking the doctor practical questions about risks and prenatal care while I was still trying to process the word ‘twins.’ He didn’t panic or make it about himself. He just started building.”
“Building.” Marisol repeats the word carefully. “That’s an interesting verb for what he does.”
“He’s not building my life, Mari.” I gesture at the course catalog in my lap. “Adrian asked me what I would choose if survival wasn’t the first concern, and he treated the answer like it mattered. I’m here because of that question.”
Marisol is quiet. She looks at the fountain, Fedor pretending to read his phone, then at the course catalog in my lap. “Is he helping you become more yourself, or is he making dependence feel beautiful?”
The question is exact and deserves an honest answer. “Both exist in the same space right now, and I can’t fully separate them. I depend on him for safety, money, and access to a world I couldn’t navigate alone. I know that. I also know he hasn’t used any of it to make me smaller, and every time I push back, he adjusts instead of insisting.”
She purses her lips. “That’s not a permanent answer.”
“No, but it’s the honest one.” I lean back on the bench. “The permanent answer requires this situation to end, so I can find out who we are without the danger holding us together. I’m not there yet. I’m just glad I can see it from here.”
Marisol reaches over and takes my hand. She holds it silently, and the pressure of her grip says everything her words haven’t. Then she lets go and picks up her coffee. “So, twins? I’m going to be a godmother to two babies.”
I laugh. “I haven’t asked you that yet.”
“You don’t need to. I already accepted.” She finishes her coffee. “Tell Adrian I him to take good care of you…all of you.”
“I don’t need to tell him that. He already is.”
She seems to accept the words this time and doesn’t push back. We walk back to the car together. Marisol hugs me at the curb and holds on longer than usual before getting into her own car.
Fedor opens my door, and I’m about to climb in when I notice a man standing near the crosswalk thirty yards away. He’s watching me. Mid-thirties, dark jacket, average build. I don’t recognize him, and he holds my eye contact for a beat too long before turning toward a side street. I get in the car and close the door.
“Fedor, there was a man at the crosswalk looking at me. He’s in a dark jacket, walking east now.”
