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I go to class. I review notes. I answer Petra’s messages. I take the vitamins Dr. Acharya prescribed. I ignore every small cramp, then overthink every small cramp. I tell myself not to read into nausea, fatigue, tenderness, mood swings, because the hormones can do all of that on their own.

My body becomes a room I keep listening at the door of.

And through all of it, I think about D.

Not constantly. That would be embarrassing, and I have standards.

But often.

In the shower. On the train. While stirring instant noodles. During lectures, when someone says axillary and my brain supplies his voice before the professor’s.

I think about the hotel room. His hands. The way he said my name.

The way he didn’t ask for more than I offered, and somehow still took me apart.

I think about the note I left.

Sorry.

One word. Cowardly and true and not nearly enough.

Still, I stare at the screen like a message might appear. Nothing.

I tell myself I’m relieved.

That’s almost true.

The pregnancy test is scheduled for Friday morning. Two weeks after the procedure.

By Thursday night, I can’t sleep. I lie in bed with my hand on my stomach and my phone beside me, screen dark.

Sorry.

In the dark, it feels smaller than ever.

Chapter Seven

MAGGIE

A knock comes at the door just after eight in the morning.

I freeze. For one stupid second, my whole body lights up at the thought.

D.

The thought is so immediate, so unreasonable, that I’m already halfway out of bed before the rest of my brain catches up.

He found me. I don’t know how. I don’t care how. For one second, I believe it with the full, humiliating force of a woman who has spent two weeks pretending not to wait.

I grab my robe from the chair and nearly trip over one sleeve getting it on. My heart is beating too fast. My hair is probably a disaster. My face is definitely a disaster. I don’t even check. I just go to the door of my apartment.

Petra Lindqvist stands in the hallway.

For a second, I just stare at her. She’s wearing a pale gray coat over one of her severe, expensive suits. Her hair is smooth. Her mouth is neutral. In one hand, she holds a small medical transport case.

Not D. Of course not D.

Stupid me. How would he even find me?