I don’t know where Tamara is.
Cesar is dead.
Artem is gone.
And my baby… my baby is…
Where is my baby?
The shock forces my eyes open but I have to squint against the bright light that assaults my irises. I struggle to sit up, reminding myself to breathe before a panic attack sets in.
I’ve been living on the edge of a panic attack for months now.
Once my vision starts getting clearer, I look around at the small, run-down hospital room I’m lying in. I don’t recognize it at all, but then again, why would I? I’ve never been here before.
This is not my city.
This is not my home.
I can see the profile of a nurse. Her hair is dirty blonde and tied into a tight knot at the back of her head. She’s talking to someone just out of my line of vision.
“My baby!” I gasp, breaking free of the parched hoarseness that grips my throat. “My baby…”
She doesn’t hear me. She’s so engrossed in her conversation that she doesn’t even glance in my direction. The panic builds as bits and pieces of memory resurface.
I don’t remember much, apart from the fact that I’d been preparing to run.
No, wait—I’d assaulted a man. Possibly even killed him. I needed to get out of town.
And then my water broke in the middle of a bus depot.
I remember being in pain.
I remember feeling scared and helpless.
I remember worrying about the future.
But not once did I ever envision waking up alone. Hollow. Terrified beyond reckoning and drowning in fears and nightmares and long-buried memories.
The emptiness I feel now makes sense.
I glance down at my stomach. There’s only a small bump left. There’s certainly no baby inside me anymore.
My body craves the fluttering kicks I’ve gotten used to over the last few months. Without them, I feel lost. Unmoored.
“Where’s my baby?” I demand, raising my voice to anyone who will listen.
The blonde nurse gives a start of surprise and turns to me. “Oh, my,” she says. “You gave me a fright! Well, I’m glad you’re awake.”
She comes forward and begins examining the IV drip attached to my hand. I flinch away from her as my eyes flit across the room.
There’s a baby bassinet in the corner, but there is no baby in it.
Oh, God, did I lose…
Him?
Her?