I notice a few women at the far end of the broad corridor that reaches back into the guts of the building. But when they see me looking, they avert their eyes.
No one is working behind the desk up front. I walk over anyway and stand there helplessly.
Minutes tick past. I hear muffled thumps and muted conversation every now and then from way in the back, but no one shows their face.
My ankles are burning from standing. I look around for a chair, but there’s none around except for the lone chair behind the desk I’m standing at.
Desperate to get off my feet, I drag the chair from around the desk and sit down, feeling my feet sigh with relief.
I close my eyes and exhale. Then I look down at Phoenix, sucking on his pacifier, which has turned out to be a godsend.
I pray that leaving hasn’t screwed up his life more than if we’d stayed put.
I know I’ve made mistakes.
I just don’t want them to hurt my son.
“Who are you?”
I look up with a start and see an older woman with round, rimmed glasses staring down at me.
This must be her seat I’m sitting in.
She was wearing brown corduroy pants and a white shirt that almost comes down to her knees. Her hair is curly and piled high on top of her head, and even from behind her glasses, her eyes are dark and piercing.
I try to stand but I can’t push myself off the chair just yet. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so tired.”
She cocks her head to the side and looks at me sympathetically. “You need a place to stay.”
It’s not a question but I nod anyway. “I have nowhere else to go.”
It physically hurts to say those words out loud. I actually wince from the effort of forcing them out. I knew how angry Artem would be if he knew where I have brought his son.
“Your daughter?” she asks.
“Son,” I reply. “His name is Phoenix.”
She nods. “We don’t have any women with children at the moment,” she cautions. “I have to warn you that some of them might not be so… welcoming.”
I frown, wondering just how nervous I should be about that warning. Phoenix has turned into my chest so I can only see the apple of his cheek. He looks so precious, so innocent.
“Okay. Will I be able to stay?” I ask.
“We do have a bed you can have,” she says. “But all areas are common. You won’t get much in the way of privacy.”
That is definitely not what I want to hear, but I’m aware that I’m not exactly rich with bargaining power here.
“That’s not a problem.”
“We don’t have cribs either,” she informs me.
“That’s okay,” I reply. “I have a bassinet.”
“You do?” the woman asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s cloth.”
She nods. “How nice is it?”