Chapter Nineteen - Jessa
The motel stinks of mildew and cigarettes, and even with the window cracked, the air never clears.
Every sound outside—sirens, car doors, raised voices—filters through the thin walls and keeps me on edge. I stay dressed, backpack zipped and never out of reach, burner phone tucked under the pillow where my hand finds it in the dark.
Sleep comes only in snatches. I wake to nightmares I can’t remember, my heart pounding, the tang of fear sharp at the back of my throat.
Each morning is a battle with nausea. It rolls through me in waves, worse than before, leaving me weak and trembling. I press my forehead to the cool, chipped tiles of the bathroom, knees pulled up, breath shallow.
Sometimes I wonder if this is what I deserve. A kind of penance for running, for loving a man like Markian, for daring to want something more.
I eat what I can. Crackers, cheap yogurt, anything I can keep down.
My clothes are already a little tighter, my body changing in subtle, unnerving ways.
I tell myself I’m doing this for the baby, for a chance at freedom, but on nights like this, hunched over a stained toilet in a motel miles from anywhere, it feels like I’m just running in circles.
Every part of me aches for home, but I know I can never go back. Not now.
One night, the nausea grows sharp and unbearable.
I barely make it to the bathroom, retching until my whole body shakes.
My vision blurs, black at the edges. I clutch the sink, willing myself not to pass out, and wonder what happens if I can’t keep going.
There’s no one to call, no one to trust. I’m utterly, desperately alone.
When morning comes, I can’t take it anymore. I wash my face, pull on a clean shirt, and cram my things into the backpack.
The motel clerk doesn’t look up when I hand over the key, doesn’t care about the ghost I’m becoming. I walk two blocks to the bus stop, hood pulled low, and ride until the city gives way to strip malls and endless gray roads.
The clinic is just off the highway, sandwiched between a pawn shop and a payday lender. It’s cheap, with chipped walls and machines older than I am, and a receptionist who barely glances up when I check in.
I use the fake name I picked out two days ago, hands shaking as I fill in the paperwork.
I wait forever. The television in the corner plays daytime soaps, the other women in the waiting room all slumped in identical plastic chairs.
My mind spirals: What if something’s wrong?
What if I’ve already failed this child? I press a hand to my belly, so slight beneath my shirt, and whisper a promise. Just hold on. Just a little longer.
The nurse who calls me back is older, her face lined but kind. She leads me to a tiny cubicle behind a faded blue curtain. “You feeling all right, honey?” she asks, voice soft.
I shake my head. “I’ve been sick for weeks. Nothing helps. I just… I need to know if everything’s okay.”
She nods, warm hands gentle on my arm as she helps me onto the table. “We’ll take a look. Just breathe for me.”
The nurse has me take another pregnancy test. It’s positive, of course. Then she leads me to a separate room and has me lie down.
The gel is cold on my skin. I watch the ceiling, counting the stains in the tiles, trying not to flinch. The nurse moves the wand, the screen flickers to life, and suddenly the room feels impossibly still.
After a long, unbearable silence, the nurse gives a soft little laugh. “Well, there’s your answer.” She turns the screen so I can see, points with a gloved finger. “You see that? And that? Two little hearts, right there. You’re having twins.”
The world goes very quiet. I stare at the screen, at the flutter of two heartbeats, impossibly small, impossibly real.
My mind races with questions: How, why, what do I do now?
My throat goes tight, tears springing hot and sudden.
Twins. Not just one. Two. The enormity of it slams into me, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe.
The nurse squeezes my hand, gentle and steady. “You’re not alone, you hear me? You can do this. You’re already doing it.”
As I lie there, watching the lives I’ve carried this far, all I can think about is Markian: his hands, his voice, his promises and his threats. He’ll never let us go. The fear is bigger now, the danger doubled, but so is the hope. So is the love.
I close my eyes and hold on to the sound of two hearts beating, not knowing what comes next—only that nothing will ever be the same.
I thank the nurse with a voice I barely recognize as my own, shaky and small, and slide off the exam table, one hand pressed protectively to my belly. My legs feel hollow as I gather my things.
The nurse’s smile is gentle, but I see a flicker of worry in her eyes. She can sense I’m not just another expectant mother with a partner waiting in the lobby, that there’s a shadow clinging to me.
I want to tell her everything, want to beg her for help or advice or just a place to rest. But I know better. I know how quickly kindness curdles to suspicion, how easily strangers become threats.
Outside, the sun is high but the parking lot is empty. I sit on the curb, my bag hugged to my chest, and try to make sense of the ultrasound picture folded inside. Two. Twins. I try to imagine them, tiny and perfect, hearts fluttering in the darkness.
I wonder if they’ll look like him, if they’ll inherit his sharp jaw or his icy eyes. I wonder if they’ll ever know who their father really is. I wonder if that’s something I should hope for, or fear.
The walk back to the bus stop is slow. The world looks different now, edges sharper, colors deeper, the future stretched out before me in a thousand terrifying directions.
I keep my head down, count every crack in the pavement, flinch at every car that slows even a little. I’m jumpy, skittish, like a rabbit in a world full of wolves. It’s not just about me anymore, and the weight of that is nearly suffocating.
Back in the motel, I lock the door twice, jam a chair beneath the handle, and sit with my back to the wall.
The air is stale and close, heavy with secrets and worry. I unfold the ultrasound and stare at the grainy shapes, the proof that I am not as alone as I feel. My hands shake, tears welling again, but I force myself to take deep breaths, just like the nurse said.
I wonder how much longer I can keep running. I’ve been careful. Cash only, never the same place twice, always leaving before anyone can remember my face.
Except, Markian’s reach is long, and his anger legendary.
The thought of him hunting me, finding me, taking these babies from me—it’s a fear that lives in my bones now, a shadow I can’t escape.
Another fear grows too: What if I can’t do this alone?
What if something goes wrong? What if my body gives out before I can get somewhere safe, somewhere I can be more than just a ghost with a secret?
I remember the nurse’s words, the soft certainty in her voice: “You’re not alone. You can do this.”
I hold on to that, clutching it like a lifeline as the sky outside the motel window turns from blue to purple, then to the deep velvet of night.
I try to picture a future where I am enough for them, where I can give them more than fear and flight.
I picture three plates on a cheap motel table, laughter in the air instead of silence, little hands in mine.
It seems impossible, but I let myself believe in it for just a moment. I need to believe in something.
But Markian’s voice creeps in at the edges of my hope.
I hear him in every car that idles outside, in every stranger who lingers too long in the motel lobby.
I replay his promises and his threats, the way he looked at me when he thought I might betray him.
I remember how fiercely he claimed me, how easily he could destroy me.
I know he will never stop looking. Not now. Not after what I’ve taken from him.
There’s a knock on the wall next door. Then angry voices, the sharp sound of someone dropping a bottle.
I jump, heart racing, and for a second, I wonder if it’s already too late.
If he’s already here. If I’ll have to run again tonight, shoes half laced, bag barely packed, two lives already relying on me to stay ahead of a man who’s never lost anything in his life.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but it’s useless.
Every creak, every footstep, every howl of wind makes my pulse skitter.
I lay awake, hands on my belly, whispering promises to the twins I’m carrying: “I’ll protect you.
I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let him hurt you, even if it costs me everything. ”
In the morning, I wake up exhausted, the nausea already coiling tight. I swallow dry toast, keep the tap running while I throw up, then splash water on my face, staring at the dark circles under my eyes. I look older, harder. I barely recognize myself.
I search for a new motel in the next town over, pack my bag, check my burner phone for any missed calls—none, thank God—and leave before anyone can ask questions.
My life has become a series of goodbyes: to comfort, to home, to the girl I used to be.
I am something new now, something desperate and wild, something willing to do anything to survive.
At the bus stop, I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Markian’s men—Lui, maybe, or some faceless Bratva soldier.
There’s no one, thank God.
I slip onto the bus, clutching my bag, the ultrasound picture pressed flat against my chest. As the engine rumbles to life, I stare out the window at the world flying by and try to believe, just for a moment, that I’m moving toward something better.
That there’s a future where I’m not hunted, where my children are safe, where I am free.
Hope is a fragile thing, and fear is patient. As the bus speeds toward the horizon, I can only pray that I am faster than the man chasing me, and strong enough for the lives I carry.
The bus rumbles through the early morning haze, carrying me farther from everything I’ve ever known. I stare at my reflection in the window—pale, drawn, haunted—and rest a hand on my belly, silently counting the miles and the heartbeats.
The world outside blurs by: empty lots, crumbling brick storefronts, sleepy diners.
I don’t know where I’ll get off, just that I can’t stop yet. Not while I can still feel Markian’s presence at my back, cold and relentless, a shadow in every town.
I turn the ultrasound photo over in my lap, tracing the faint outline of two tiny forms. A fierce, trembling love blooms through the fear. I will find a way to protect them. I will give them something better, even if all I have is hope and borrowed time.
As the bus rattles on, I close my eyes and breathe deep, making promises in the silence. Promises I will keep, no matter what it takes. For the first time, determination drowns out the dread.