The last week had been difficult on Mariya. It was the first time in a few months she’d been away from Emma for more than just a weekend. But she had to do as much as she could in those days to prepare them for coming here. They were planning on spending the next few months, at least through the end of the year, in Sherwood. Mariya would travel as necessary to help women in the area as much as possible, but she would stay close to the family. Those were the days she never liked to face. Days she often stared at on the calendar, dreading their arrival. She would celebrate when they were finally behind her.
She coped with it in silence. Not that she didn’t think Ian knew. He watched her go through the anxiety and pain every year. Neither of them liked to talk about it. This year they decided they wouldn’t. They would move past it by going to spend time with his parents and enjoying a calmer pace for a little while.
Emma settled down immediately. She always did. She was adaptable. Willing to go with the ever-changing life they led as long as they were together. Mariya knew she hated when either of her parents left home. But it was easier for her when Ian was gone. The little girl missed her father desperately, but as long as Mariya stayed steady and let her know everything was all right, Emma felt calm. It wasn’t as easy when she needed to be gone. Mariya knew it was because Emma didn’t understand why she left. She knew about her father’s job, at least in the way such a little girl could know. But they hadn’t told her about what her mother did.
Emma didn’t know about the women or the other small children that they rescued. She didn’t know that when Mariya left it was with a weapon on her hip and a prayer in her soul that she’d be able to deliver those families out of suffering and into new lives. She never let herself dwell on the reality that she might not come home to her own life.
She’d entertained a thought about stopping. For a time. Many years ago. Just after Emma came into the world, she held her tiny newborn daughter in her arms and looked into her face, thinking about how precious and delicate she was. Mariya wondered how she could ever leave her, how she could ever go back out into that danger and risk her daughter not having her anymore.
Then she remembered those who relied on her. Many of them had children, and those who didn’t might someday. Those mothers would look into their babies’ faces the same way she looked into Emma’s. They didn’t deserve to fear what would happen to them.
That’s what sent her back out. It’s what made her push harder and believe deeper. One day she would tell Emma about all of it. She would explain to her what she did and show her the records she kept. Those were valuable to her. The names and the faces, the real people who gave her purpose. Her belief would sometimes falter. Some missions didn’t go as planned. Sometimes the women fell victim despite her best efforts. Each one like a wrench tearing apart her soul. But she could always go to those records, scan through them, remembering those who were able to walk out of the darkness and claim their own piece of light.
But for now, Emma was just an innocent little girl. She didn’t want her to know about the horrors of the world. For now, Mariya was happy to just watch her play.
Outside the window, Emma bounced her ball on the sidewalk and occasionally ran across the grass to talk to her father. After a few seconds, the ball slipped from her hands and started rolling toward the street. Worry jumped in Mariya’s heart, and she made a move to go to the front door, ready to call Emma back from running out into the street. But she didn’t need to. A little boy maybe a couple of years older than Emma was riding his bike past the house and stopped just before hitting the ball. He got off his bike and grabbed the ball to bring it back over to Emma. They looked at each other for a brief moment as he carefully placed the ball in her hands.
It was a sweet moment, so tender and innocent. She only turned away when the phone rang. Jogging into the kitchen, she picked the phone up from the cradle.
“Hello?” she answered, expecting to hear her mother-in-law’s voice on the other end.
Ian’s parents weren’t there when they arrived the night before but were supposed to return that night. She expected the call to be from them to make plans for dinner or to say they would be home earlier than expected. Instead, Elliot’s voice came through sharp and urgent. He was supposed to be in Texas, escorting a woman they just took from a truly unimaginable situation in Michigan. Getting a call from him meant something was wrong. He didn’t get in touch with her like this, especially not on this number. It created too much of a trail, too much of something to follow and link back between the women and her.
“Get inside and lock the doors.”
“I am inside. That’s how I answered the phone,” Mariya pointed out. “What’s going on?”
“Is Emma with you? And Ian?”
“She’s outside playing in the yard, and he’s with her. Elliot, what is happening?”
She rarely spoke his real name if they weren’t in the same room. It was too risky. But right now, she wasn’t thinking of anything but the urgency in his voice.
“Get them inside. Lock the doors. I’m at the airport right now. I’m getting the next plane out.”
“You need to tell me
