“You want a bicycle like that?” I ask.
She nods hard, and just like that, the complaining disappears.
Dominik comes back. He doesn’t mention where he went or what he did.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“Just a little work,” he says, like it’s nothing worth explaining.
Then he crouches in front of Mila, and the corners of his mouth lift. He straightens her sleeve with two fingers.
“All done,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”
We don’t talk much after that. Dominik carries Mila to the car, and I follow them, trying to get my thoughts in order and getting nowhere. There’s too much between us now, and no room to say any of it.
I’ve known about Mila’s blood marker since she was a newborn. A doctor told me early that it could mean mild symptoms, or nothing at all, and that when it runs in the family, it’s usually not serious.
Mila used to get fevers a lot when she was small. The doctors told me her immune system was weak and said it should get better as she grew, but we had to be careful until then.
I took her to clinics and sat through long nights that felt like they would never end. I measured medicine, cooled her down when she got too hot, and stayed up listening to her breathe until morning. Then I still went to work and left her with whoever I trusted that week, a student who needed money or a neighbor who could help. I called to check on her whenever I could, and I came home as fast as I could.
I did what I knew how to do. I kept her fed, medicated, and safe. The way I did it meant he was never part of it.
I couldn’t stay in the city with him, moving from place to place before we even knew the street names, not while I was pregnant. The Bratva wanted me badly enough to use me, and if they found out I was carrying his child, they would’ve used her too. Dominik never would’ve backed off. He would’ve risked his life and his standing to protect me and Mila.
Then I found out hiding still wasn’t enough.
I saw it by accident, buried in a shared folder I used for clinic paperwork. I clicked the wrong file, expecting invoices or lab notes, and the screen changed before I could stop it. A dead drop. One line of text, a timestamp that had already passed. There was a photo of Dominik standing near the side entrance of the clinic I used during my first trimester. I knew they were tracking where I went.
I saw two other men after that, and they stood out right away. One was on a route I took to work. One was at a supermarket near my apartment. They weren’t there to wait for anyone they cared about, and they weren’t there to shop. They stood where they could see the doors, watched people instead of products, and moved only when they had to. Both had earpieces. Both tracked the space the same way.
I knew what I was looking at, and I knew what it meant.
I changed my route to work. I switched stores. I paid cash when I could. I kept moving even when my body needed rest and my mind told me I wasn’t doing enough for Mila. Working, relocating, staying alert, raising her alone.
I got up for work even when Mila wrapped her hands around my legs and cried for me not to leave. I cried with her, handed her to the sitter, and walked out without turning back. I could hear her crying from the street, and I didn’t stop. It wore me down. I kept going anyway.
I did what I could with what I had. I made the choices that were in front of me at the time.
I look at Mila, her head resting against my shoulder. She’s already half asleep, and we're almost home. I lay her on the bedand smooth her hair back from her face, my hand following the familiar line of her ear and cheek.
She looks like him when she sleeps. I’ve seen it for years and chose not to name it. Seeing something and admitting it aren’t the same thing.
I know this moved past without me, and I won’t be able to pull it back. What I don’t know is whether I’m ready for what comes after.
22
DOMINIK
The doctor says it in a careful way, like he’s trying not to scare us while still saying what he needs to say.
He keeps his voice even and says he wants one more test to confirm what they found. He explains that if the marker in Mila’s blood shows up in mine too, and they can confirm it runs in the family, then the diagnosis is simple and harmless, and they can close the file.
He says it would mean something mild that shows up early and usually fades as a child gets older. If that’s the case, Mila will likely grow out of it and just need follow-up checks for a while.
He picks his words carefully, but what he leaves out is clear too. One result in a child doesn’t give them one clean answer. Ana’s blood already came back clear, and if Mila’s the only one with that marker, then it’s not a simple case anymore. It opens up other possibilities.
That kind of uncertainty gets attention because it doesn’t go away on its own. It brings more questions, more tests, and morepeople looking at the file. Paperwork moves. Names get copied. The file stays open instead of getting closed.
