I try not to let that thought consume me. But it hurts more than I’m willing to admit.
It hurts so bad some nights I can barely sleep.
He didn’t even try to fight for me.
I disappeared and he just… let me go.
“You wanna tell us about his father?” Maria questions, putting a hand on my arm. “Because you can. You can trust us.”
Can I trust anyone?
I look between the two women in front of me, and I’m struck by how much I want to tell them, how much I want to share my story with them. With someone. With anyone.
Because, honestly, I’m sick of being alone.
I’m sick of keeping people—good, kind, generous people—at arm’s length because I’m so scared of being found, of being betrayed.
“Don’t cry, honey,” Maria says. Only then do I realize I’ve got tears running down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, trying to wipe away my tears.
“Did… did he do that to you?” Maria asks.
I stare at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”
I follow her gaze and notice that she’s staring at the bruise on my arm. I have no idea how I’d gotten it in the first place. Maybe from the fall in the bus depot? I can’t be sure.
I look up at her concerned eyes and I realize what she’s thinking. I’m about to correct her but I stop before I can find the words.
After all, what is the point?
I can’t give her details.
I can’t explain specifics. At least, not without also giving up my identity in the process.
The idea of Artem finding me is… confusing.
But the idea of Budimir finding me is downright terrifying.
Especially now that I have my little Phoenix.
“It’s complicated,” I tell Maria in the end.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she tells me. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
She helps me switch my son to my left breast, so he can feed evenly. Immediately, the tension that was mounting in my chest eases a little.
“Any thoughts on names?” Annette asks eagerly.
It takes me a second, but when the idea comes, it’s so perfect and fully formed that it’s a wonder I didn’t think of it months ago.
“Phoenix,” I say. “His name is Phoenix.”
My little bird.
Rising from the ashes of the house that Artem burned to the ground.
“Aw, honey,” Maria says, running her hand over Phoenix’s downy hair. “That’s perfect.”