And I’ve killed someone else. Another dangerous man.
He deserved it. That is my only solace.
My footsteps make sharp sounds against the sidewalk. People look at me pass as they always do. Men in cars, men walking by me. They all look at my stomach, every time.
I feel that familiar sharp shooting pain. But it’s mild and honestly, I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve had pain through my entire pregnancy. The stress has followed me from the mountains. It doesn’t seem like it’s looking to abandon me any time soon.
When I get to my apartment, I walk up the three flights of stairs, stopping to rest on each landing, before I finally make it to my unit.
I’ve got the key in the door when I hear running footsteps. A second later, Juanita and Eva round the corner with their mother, Gabrielle, right behind them. She’s pregnant, too, with a stomach that’s almost as large as mine.
“Emily!” Gabrielle croons when she sees me.
She’s got a load of laundry attached to her hip and a thin sheen of sweat that clings to her brow. I will myself to smile back, hoping that my face won’t betray me.
“Hola, Gabby,” I greet.
The little girls, Juanita and Eva, race towards me and encircle me from either side.
“Hola, Emily,” Eva says, flashing me a huge smile that reveals her lack of front teeth.
“Hola, princesa,” I reply, tweaking her nose. “Where have you troublemakers been?”
Eva tattles on her sister immediately. “Juanita made a mess on my bedsheet,” she says. “So we went to do the laundry.”
“I didn’t make the mess—you did!” Juanita cries out.
“Chicas!” Gabby says tiredly. “Here’s the key. Please, go inside.”
“We wanna talk to Emily,” Juanita whines.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her, knowing full well there will be no tomorrow. “Do as your mother says.”
Gabby shoots me a grateful smile as both girls skip to their door. I’ve been in their apartment twice before. It’s a tiny studio. The girls share a single queen mattress with their parents. A new baby on the way will only make things harder.
“Are you okay, Emily?” Gabby asks.
“Me?”
She nods. “You looked a little worried.”
I hadn’t even realized I was being so obvious. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe Gabby is just that good at sussing out when something was wrong. After all, she is the mother to two young girls.
“I’m not,” I reply—a little too fast.
“Is it that baby?” she asks. “It’s past time you popped that little guy out, huh?”
She’s circling her own stomach with soft hands. I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. “Way past time,” I agree. “But apparently, he’s comfortable in here.”
Gabby gives me a little wink. “Don’t make it too comfortable for him,” she says. “You want to meet him at some point. Or her.”
“Or her.” I still haven’t found out what the sex of the baby is. I’ve had chances, but every time, I decline.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Gabby says with a snap of her fingers. “I have an extra baby blanket you can have if you want.”
“An extra one?” I ask. “Won’t you need it for your little guy?”
“I’m stitching a new one for her,” Gabby tells me.
“Her?”
Gabby nods and rings. “We found out yesterday. Another girl.”
“Wow!” I smile. “Congratulations.”
“I hate saying it, but it does make things easier in terms of hand-me-downs,” she admits.
“Are you sure? You could probably still use it,” I point out, knowing that there is no way Gabby would ever just discard a perfectly good blanket.
“I’d rather you have it.”
I feel my heart swell as she gives me a kind smile. It’s amazing how many little kindnesses have gotten me through the last few months.
“Thank you, Gabby.”
“Of course. Stay right there. I’ll go grab it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
But she’s already gone, shuffling through the cracked-open door of her apartment a few units down.
I sigh and lean against the wall. She’s back a moment later, sans laundry basket but with the blanket in her hands.
It’s a soft yellow fabric that would have been a bright, sunshiny yellow in its heyday. The years have robbed it of its thickness and most of its color, but the worn-down love spots just make me smile. There’s even a little bee embroidered into one corner.
“Aw, Gabby, it’s beautiful,” I purr. “Did you stitch it yourself?”
She nods. “When Juanita was born. So it’s over eight years old now. I wish I could give you something a little more fresh.”
I put my hand on her arm. “I love it,” I insist. “It’s beautiful and sentimental. I’ll always keep it.”
She beams. I have to resist the urge to give her a hug. I don’t want this to seem like a goodbye. Gabby is already plenty suspicious.
And the fewer people who know I’m leaving, the better.
“See you tomorrow,” I say. Then I slip into my apartment.
The moment I’m inside, I start making a list of what few possessions I have to my name. It’s depressingly short.
First, I grab the large duffel bag that I’ve stored underneath the sofa. I wrench it open and move around the apartment, assessing what I can take with me and what needs to be left behind.
I had been preparing to bring my baby back to this apartment, so I’ve been buying little things over the last couple of months whenever I had a little cash to spare.
A travel basinet, a load of diapers, a few onesies that I’d brought from a secondhand store.
The baby’s stuff takes up most of the space in the duffel bag. I pack my things on top. A few threadbare dresses, a tiny bag of makeup. And a small velvet pouch containing the wedding ring that Artem gave me.
Once the contents of my life have been packed away into a single bag, I hoist it onto my shoulder and look around the space.
Water-stained walls and a rickety table look back at me.
At least there won’t be anything about this place to miss.
But the moment I think it, I realize that it’s not the place
