forty-two #3
But the satisfaction was thin.
I changed quickly, peeling myself out of sequins and lashes until I was just Amira again-hoodie up, sweatpants soft against my legs. I said a few quiet goodbyes, but didn't linger. I never did.
The drive to Tim and Lisa's was dark and empty, the kind of quiet only cities knew at 3 a.m. Their porch light glowed soft against the night. Tim answered when I knocked, barefoot, hair rumpled from sleep.
"She's out cold," he whispered, stepping back to let me in.
Lisa was in the living room chair, a blanket draped over her lap and Alina sprawled across it in the deep, heavy sleep of toddlers. Her tiny mouth hung open, curls stuck to her forehead. She looked so peaceful it almost hurt to move her.
Lisa rose carefully, passing her over with practiced gentleness. "She was an angel tonight."
I mouthed, thank you, not trusting my voice.
Alina didn't stir as I carried her to the car, her weight warm and solid against my chest. She didn't stir when I buckled her in, either-just sighed and turned her head into the blanket like she knew she was home.
Back at my place, I tucked her into her bed, kissed her curls, and stood there for a moment watching her chest rise and fall. So small. So safe. For now.
In my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the wooden box on my nightstand.
Inside: the silver locket from my dad. All of Alina sonogram photos.
A sketch of a salon suite logo I'd doodled during a boring theory lecture.
My savings envelope-thinner than I wanted it to be.
And at the very bottom, the cream invitation.
I held it between my fingers, tracing the embossed letters like they might tell me what I didn't already know.
Even reading the names felt like touching an old bruise.
How did he even find me?
I turned it over in my hand, searching for answers in blank cardstock. Maybe it wasn't even him. Maybe it was her-curious enough to track down the woman her fiancé once kept in the shadows or maybe he just wanted to prove he'd won.
I set it back in the box and closed the lid.
I killed the light and slid under the covers. But long after the room went dark, I lay awake, the invitation burning like a coal I couldn't put out.
Sleep wasn't coming. Not tonight.
I shoved the blankets back and padded into the kitchen, opening the drawer where I kept a tiny stash for nights like this-rare, but necessary. A single pre-roll sat inside, untouched for weeks. I grabbed it, along with the lighter, and slid open the balcony door.
The night air hit cool and damp, smelling faintly of rain and asphalt. I sank into the old plastic chair, bare legs goosebumping in the breeze.
The first drag burned my lungs before settling warm in my chest. The second eased the tightness in my jaw. Out here, above the sleeping city, I could almost pretend I wasn't carrying the weight of a name I couldn't even say out loud anymore.
Lights blinked from windows across the street. A car hummed by. Otherwise, silence-thick and still.
I thought about the girl I used to be. The one who could dance under red lights and make men believe she was untouchable. The one who loved a man she was never allowed to have. The one who thought leaving would fix her.
The ember at the tip glowed bright when I exhaled into the night.
I didn't hear my phone at first-just a faint, persistent buzz, barely cutting through the fog of smoke and my own thoughts.
The sound came again, longer this time, and I turned my head toward the sliding door. The screen lit the kitchen in soft pulses from where I'd left it on the counter.
I frowned, dragging myself up from the chair. My bare feet padded across the cool floor, each step heavier than it should've been.
The glow from the phone painted my hand as I reached for it.
Unknown Caller.
The first buzz, I didn't even look up. Unknown Caller. Probably spam.
The second came almost immediately after the first, rattling against the table like it had something to prove.
I frowned, reached for it, and this time, hesitation slowed me.
Unknown again.
I didn't have proof. No reason beyond the way my pulse jumped in my throat, the way my skin prickled as if my body recognized something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.
I hovered my thumb over the screen but didn't press. The phone felt heavier the longer I held it, warming in my palm until it might as well have been burning.
For one dizzy second, I thought about letting it ring out. About tossing it back on the counter, walking away, pretending this night had been like any other.
But I didn't move.
Because deep down, I already knew.
I should've let it go to voicemail. I should've thrown the damn thing across the room.
Instead, I swiped.
"Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end-just breathing, steady, deep. Then, a voice I hadn't heard in three years.
"Amira."
I closed my eyes, gripping the balcony rail like it was the only thing holding me up.
And just like that, everything I'd tried to bury clawed its way back to the surface.