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A sudden crash rends the air, making both of us jerk back. Glass shoots across the room in all directions. I wince as a shard pricks my leg.

“Are you alright?” Karmela asks as I bend down.

“Yeah,” I reply, brushing my calf. There’s a small scratch, but nothing serious. “Are you?”

“Yes,” she exhales, clutching her chest.

“What happened?”

Both of us scan the debris scattered across the rug, glinting in the dusty morning light. “The vase,” she says, pointing to a large chunk of glass near the china cabinet. “It fell.”

All the way across the room? I didn’t see it happen, but from the sound of the crash, it seems more like it was thrown.

Uneasiness simmers in my gut as I slowly crouch to the ground to help Karmela pick up the broken glass. Perhaps with my mom’s death broached earlier, I could finally ask the question that’s haunted me the most.

“Karmela,” I say tentatively. “Why did my mom leave?”

She falters, her hand hovering over the rug. “She didn’t tell you?”

My mom’s voice whispers from my memories. I had no reason to stay. After Jadran—your otac—and your grandmother died, there were only painful memories. And yet I know now that couldn’t have been fully true. I respond slowly.

“I think . . . she was sad after my dad died. But I don’t know more. She didn’t like to talk about the past.”

Karmela studies me, her blue eyes glinting with an emotion I can’t quite read. Relief, perhaps? Though I’m not sure why. “Well,” she goes on, her tone lighter than before, “after your father died, she found out she was trudna.” Karmela curves her hand around her belly—pregnant. “She wanted a fresh start. A new life. So, she left.”

Karmela’s tone makes it sound simple. But was it? Leaving your home, your only family, to start a new life in a new country. Cutting ties completely. Lying to your daughter. These all seem like difficult decisions, more complex than simply wanting a “fresh start.”

“That’s . . . it?”

Karmela’s wrinkles deepen as her lips slant into a scowl. “Yes,” she snaps. “That’s it.” It sounds sharp and abrupt when she says it. To je to.

I bristle and turn away. I can’t help but think of my mom, the way she was also evasive about the past. Whenever I tried asking about her life on Tolba or my dad, she’d have a similar reaction. Tense up, suck in a sharp breath, as if my questions pierced her like needles. She’d always find a way to change the subject, telling me, It’s in the past. Our life is here now.

Eventually, I stopped trying. In my mom’s silence, I learned other truths—that love, as wonderful as it seemed, was fragile and fleeting. That losing it could leave you so broken you couldn’t bear to speak about it, not even to your own daughter.

I had hoped Karmela might be different, that she would be the gateway to my family history. But it seems that door is still closed, at least for now.

I continue to pick up the broken glass in silence, while above me, Marko stares disapprovingly.

That evening, I retreat to my room for another early night. Despite Karmela’s warning about propuh, I keep the doors to the balcony slightly open. The heat is far too overbearing to sleep otherwise. But it follows me into my dreams.

The sun scorches my skin as I wander through the town. I head toward the sea, eager to dip in the cool water. But as I approach the pier, my surroundings blur, grow hazy. Suddenly, a large wooden ship with sails manifests in the harbor. People with old-fashioned clothing mill about, carrying crates and other goods.

One man passing by with a fisherman’s cap spits at my feet. I leap back, unsure if he was only careless or if he meant to be so rude. Glancing down, I realize I’m wearing a long skirt with an apron, rustic like the rest of the scene. But the next moment, it vanishes, replaced by a pair of my shorts. The people and the ship vanish too. The harbor looks the same as it did before, with modern boats bobbing in the current. It all happened so fast, like some kind of fissure into the past.

But I brush it off, continuing toward the sea. A few people are already swimming. I ignore the stares scraping over my body as I peel off my shirt and shorts and wade out into the water.

Closing my eyes, I relish the chill against my skin. I float peacefully, letting the hum of the sea fill my ears. A sense of calm overtakes me. Nothing else matters, just me and the sea.

A shout nearby breaks my reverie. I straighten, squinting toward a young boy pointing in my direction. Fear contorts his features. “Krv!” he shouts. Slowly, my mind translates. Blood.

I peer down. Dark red stains the clear water, seeping from my stomach. A large wound tears across my torso, as if I’ve been cut open. And yet I feel no pain. I watch in horror as more blood gushes out, unfurling in plumes of maroon. I try to cover the gash, but bile rises in my throat at the split in my skin, savage and slick and raw. I’ve never felt such a wrongness, my fingers grazing parts they should never touch. The people who had been swimming calmly moments before all rush to shore, warning others away. Krv! Krv! The translucent sea is now dark and murky, polluted by my blood. Just as I heave with sick, my eyes shoot open.

Darkness. I’m back in bed, the canopy billowing around me softly. I attempt to lift myself up, to feel my stomach, but my arms don’t move. I’m frozen.

A droning sound fills the air like a fly flitting inside my head, only stronger.

The sound intensifies as a shadow glides across the canopy. Like before, it blooms into a figure at the foot of my bed, its form pressed against the fabric. The room goes icy cold.