While preparing a new pot of tea, I stare at my stomach, tracing my protruding gut with the tips of my fingers. “Hi, baby.”
It’s the first I’m talking to my baby. And I’m glad I’m alone. This might be embarrassing with anyone else around.
I sigh. “I know you can’t really understand me, but I promise I’m going to do everything I can to protect you, okay?”
My lips tighten into a line.
“Everything—I mean that.”
I turn numbly to the pot whistling on the stove. Once the tea is prepared, I take a cup with me upstairs and lock myself in the bedroom. I wander to the desk near the window. I sit down. I cradle the cup between my hands.
“This is…” I release a loud sigh. “Hard. I don’t know when this whole war will end.”
I gently rub my stomach while lifting the tea to my lips. The soothing taste of chamomile eases me. It’s not the same as when Viktoria makes it, and I can almost hear her laughing in the back of my head, teasing me about preparing tea by myself.
Especially tea that isn’t lavender.
A weak smile appears as I gaze at my stomach. “One year shouldn’t put me too far behind, right? Then I can focus on the future.” I blink rapidly. “I can focus on you.”
After pushing the teacup aside, I search the desk for paper and a pen. I rub my knuckles liberally while staring at the page, my eyes growing wider by the second. And the more I think about it, the more numb I get.
I lift the pen and press it to the page.
To whom it may concern…
Anxiety lashes my chest as the words pour from my hand. My throat clenches. My chest seizes. Every muscle in my body fights for me to stop.
But I press on, writing,I’d like to request a deferment for one year…
I drop the pen.
Is this really what I want? Is this really going to help?
I peer down at my stomach as the numbness cracks. Just a little bit. Just enough to let the disappointment sink in.
Until everything is settled and done, I have no choice. I can’t fight this warandhit the books. It’ll be too distracting—on both sides of the fence. In a year, Cardona will be dead, and I’ll have given birth to a healthy baby.
I can figure everything out from there.
As I pluck the pen from the desk, a tear escapes my eye. My throat contracts as I swallow repeatedly, thinking about Dr. Atlee and how much she’s supported me this whole time.
God, Dr. Atlee has no idea what’s going on, does she?
The rest of the words flow from me. While reading over the letter, I feel a sense of pride poke through the sorrow. This letter sounds sober, professional, and mature. It’s exactly what Weill Cornell should see in a prospective student.
I just hope I can survive the next year.
I have a life to get to.
And I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that.
Chapter Four
Zoya
She comes with me.
I shudder. Just hours ago, I was strapped to a chair with a filthy handkerchief stuffed in my mouth. My blouse is torn. My bra is showing. I’m feeling more exposed by the minute as I rub my wrists, the skin red and raw from being bound for so long.