Page 37

“There isn’t.” He finally looks at me. His eyes are black. Completely black. No white at all. “I have to stay. Not because I want to. Because you’ll die if I don’t.”

The words hit like a slap. Not because I want to. Right. Of course.

“The spare room,” I manage. “You can take the spare room.”

“Fine.”

Mrs. Chen clears her throat. “So, he’s moving in?”

“The spare room," I manage. “Just until⁠—”

“Until the baby comes. I understand.” She nods crisply. “People will talk if there's no explanation. I suggest we say he's your cousin from out of town. Helping with the bakery while you're pregnant. Simple. Believable.”

Malak and I exchange a glance. She's already three steps ahead.

“That works,” he says.

“Of course it works. I didn't survive four decades of neighborhood gossip by being stupid.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just stop being idiots.” She heads for the door, pauses. “And clean up that flour. It’s a waste.”

The door closes behind her.

Malak and I sit on the floor in the ruined kitchen. His hand is still on my stomach. Mine covers it without thinking.

“I need to get you upstairs,” he says.

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.”

He’s right. When I try to sit up, my head swims. My legs feel like water.

He slips one arm under my knees, the other around my back. Lifts me like I weigh nothing. Carries me through the bakery, up the stairs, into my apartment.

This time when he lays me on the bed, it’s different. No heat. No desire. Just careful placement. Making sure the pillows support my head. Pulling the blanket up to my chin.

“Sleep,” he says.

“Where will you be?”

“Here.” He settles into the chair by the window. The same one he sat in that first night. “I’m not leaving.”

“You said...”

“I know what I said.” His voice is tired. So tired. “But I can’t. Even if I wanted to. We’re connected now. You. Me. The baby. I feel what you feel. When you were dying, it was like being torn apart from the inside.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again.”

I close my eyes. The exhaustion is overwhelming. The kind that comes after a crisis. After surviving something that should have killed you.

“Malak?”

“Yes.”