2. Chapter 2
The computer screen glows in the dim room, casting shadows over Yara”s sleeping face. The hard drive chugs and churns, struggling to navigate even the simplest web pages. Having access to a computer at all feels like a miracle, courtesy of a government program that attempted, yet largely failed, to provide technology access to the poor. My heart pounds as I slowly scroll through page after page of dating profiles, searching for something—anything—genuine. I almost give up several times as the internet intermittently cuts out, each disruption forcing me to start over.
Come on, Alina. You didn”t come this far to back out now.
With a deep breath, I click the blinking ”Join Now” button and start filling out the profile. Name, age, location...the basics.
Then the open-ended questions. Hobbies. Interests. Dreams. Three things that feel like distant and frivolous luxuries. Dumpster diving. Keeping my daughter safe from sex pests. Having at least one guaranteed meal a day without having to shack up with my lunatic baby daddy. I smirk at my honest answer and delete it immediately.
My fingers hover above the keys. Dreams. I have so many, yet none at all. Safety. Security. A place to finally call home.
Home. The word aches inside my chest. When was the last time we truly had one?
I glance at Yara, her chest rising and falling steadily under the frayed blanket. She”s the only home I need. Everything else is just details.
The cursor blinks impatiently. Come on, details. Spill your guts so some stranger can decide if you”re worth his time. Or so he can figure out how to use the information against us later.
Worth his time. As if that”s ever been the problem. More like whether we”re troublesome enough to discard when the novelty wears off. Around here, men have a particular penchant for shiny new things—especially shiny, new, young things.
With a sigh, I start typing.
Dreams of safety, security, and stability. Of walls that don”t whisper of what they”ve seen, and doors that lock to keep the darkness out. A place where my daughter can grow without fear of what”s around each corner.
Where I can finally breathe again.
Is that too much to ask for? In this life we”ve been given, maybe. But I have to try. For Yara, I”ll always try.
Of course, I don”t word my profile in such a brutally honest way. Instead, I remain upbeat and vague in my responses, as if everything is fine. Yoga and poetry. Travel and existentialism. A world filled with kindness, an unlimited supply of art supplies for my daughter, and excellent coffee for me.
One of the biggest lessons I”ve learned is that nobody, except those very closest to you, actually wants to hear your problems—sometimes, not even them. Hearing the truth makes people feel bad, and nobody likes to feel bad.
I finish the profile, add a photo of us from happier days, and click to make it live.
And now, we wait.
The next day
I help Yara with her homework at the table, half an eye on my computer for any notifications. With each passing hour, my hope deflates like a sad, wrinkled balloon.
Of course no one is interested. Why did I think anything would be different this time? Sure, I”m what might be considered pretty. Beautiful, even. But I”m a single mother and I”m not as young as I used to be. And there”s plenty of supply around here when it comes to beautiful, young women without children who would do just about anything for the promise of a better life.
Yara looks up from her math problems, her brow furrowed. ”Still nothing, Mama?”
I force a smile and brush her hair from her eyes. ”It”ll happen, darling. These things take time.”
Her expression says she knows I”m lying, but she nods and returns to her work. No twelve-year-old should have eyes that sad. That wise. And I feel guilty for even telling her that I”m trying this plan. Exposing her to the idea that we need a man to save us and that being on some flesh farm of a dating app is going to change that. But she”s smart, and I feel like it”s better to be honest than to keep things from her.
Secrecy is what led to our current situation, and it”s not what is going to get us out. Plus, I need more than anything for her to know that I”m trying, and that I”m not settling for this life for either of us.
When my computer chimes at last, I startle. With shaking fingers, I reach for the mouse and click to read the message.
Man 1: Hey beautiful, you looking to come to America? ??
My stomach sinks. I”ve seen this before—these conversations generally turn into a thinly veiled offer for a green card marriage, cash in exchange for whatever they want. A sea of scammers, ironically preying on people more vulnerable and with much less than them.
Yara peers at me, hope flickering to life in her eyes. I rub at the tension gathering behind my forehead and type a reply.
Me: Thank you, but I”m really just looking for someone who understands me and what I”m trying to build for my daughter.
Man 1: Sounds like you need to loosen up a bit. Come have some fun ?? I can show you a good time.
I sigh. That”s what all of them want. Money or sex.
I end the conversation and block his profile. When several more messages come in, all with the same sleazy overtures, I close the app altogether.
Yara”s gaze drops back to the table, her shoulders slumping.
”It”s okay, kitten,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ”We knew it might take time to find someone good.”
Someone who wants us, not just what he can take. But with each leering message, my faith in finding that person dwindles.
In this life we”ve been given, hope is a luxury I can”t afford.
Hope, after all, can be even more dangerous than its absence.
The next day, I open the dating app with low expectations. But a new message catches my eye. The sender”s name is Gerald.
Gerald: Hi Alina, nice to ”meet” you. Your profile got my attention. Not just your beauty, because you are absolutely stunning, but the strength I see in your words. I hope you”re having a wonderful week. Tell me, what dreams do you have for you and your daughter in America?
A genuine question. No mention of sex or money or unrealistic promises. As if he actually read my profile and didn”t just jerk off to the pictures and slide into my DMs. I read through it again, searching for the hidden agenda, but find only sincerity. Of course, he could just be a more complex scammer or creep than most, so I”m still on guard. But this is much more promising than any of the prior conversations men have tried to start on the app.
Heart quickening, I type a reply.
Me: Hello Gerald. It”s nice to meet you. I hope you”re having a wonderful week as well. That”s quite a question to start with. We have many dreams, but the most important would be for a safe and stable life, a fresh start.
I add ”Maybe that”s too much to hope for”, but then backspace until it”s deleted. It sounds too cynical, too raw, and again, nobody truly wants to hear another”s problems.
Gerald: A fresh start isn”t too much to ask for. With your spirit, I believe anything”s possible. And I must say, the idea of adding two beautiful ladies to my life is quite the incentive to help make those dreams come true.
I laugh in disbelief and delight, a knot of tension in my chest unraveling. When was the last time a man”s words made me feel valued, rather than degraded? And the fact I have a daughter doesn”t seem to have phased him in the slightest.
Me: You have quite a way with words, Gerald. And here I thought charm was a lost art.
His response is instant, despite the agonizingly slow internet connection.
Gerald: Around you, my dear, I”ll endeavor to be nothing less than charming. Now, tell me more about yourself and the delightful little girl in your photos. I want to know everything.
Everything. No one has ever wanted to know me, all of me, the good and bad and in between. But in his request, delivered with playful gallantry, I sense only genuine interest.
Maybe Gerald will disappoint like the others. But for now, I have a chance at real connection—and the possibility of hope restored. With a smile, I begin to type.
The conversation with Gerald continues over the next few days, and I find myself eagerly anticipating the familiar ding to notify me of an incoming message.
Gerald: Imagine weekends exploring cities you”ve only read about, Yara attending the best schools, and you, Alina, finally having the peace you deserve. I want to give that to you.
My breath catches at the images he evokes, a life of safety and adventure and opportunity for Yara. And fun! But it”s too fanciful. Men don”t give such gifts without wanting something in return.
Me: It sounds like a fairy tale, Gerald. One I”d like to believe in, though life has taught me to be cautious of fairy tales. Besides, have you read them… like, really read some of them? Shiny on the surface but very dark when you come to learn the true, underlying meaning.
His cursor pauses, but I can”t be sure if he”s thinking of a response or if it”s just the regular dragging of our internet connection.
Gerald: Let me be the one to show you that some fairy tales can be real and bright and positive. Just give me, give us, a chance.
He always seems to know what to say.
I hesitate, my fingers hovering above the keys. In my periphery, Yara stirs in her sleep, muttering something unintelligible. The sight of her, vulnerable and dreaming, hardens my resolve. For her, I would face any danger.
Me: We”ve learned to be wary of chances, Gerald. Promises too easily given have a way of disappearing like smoke. I want to believe everything you say, but if you want to prove your sincerity, we”ll need more than pretty words. I hope you can understand that having a daughter in the pictures raises the stakes for me.
The moment I hit send I regret it. Shit! Was that too forward? Too brutally honest? I”ve probably burned this relationship before it had a chance to get off the ground.
But Gerald”s reply comes quickly.
Gerald: Of course, I understand your skepticism completely. What can I do to put your mind at ease? A video call? Gifts to show my generosity? A visit in person? You need only ask, Alina. I will do whatever it takes to gain your trust.
My heart flutters with mingled anticipation and anxiety. Visits and gifts could be mere manipulations, but a video call would reveal more of the truth. It would show more about him, without the obligations some men associate with gifts, and without any expectations that might come with meeting in person. I drum my fingers on the table as I stare at the screen, deep in thought.
How far do I dare to push when hope is finally within reach? But if Gerald is different, he”ll understand my need for caution. I take a deep breath. I”m hesitating only because I worry this might be pushing things too far. But if a video call is too much to ask, then this never had the potential to go anywhere anyway. Yara stirs again, her body twitching as if caught in a nightmare, and I make up my mind.
Me: A video call would be a start. Let”s see if the man matches the charm—because you are very charming—before we get carried away. When are you available? Our internet connection is quite volatile so it won”t be the best picture quality, but we should be able to get it to work if we wait until outside of peak hours.
Gerald: For you, I”m available anytime. How about tonight? Say, in an hour? I”ll send you a link to connect, and we can talk for as long as you”d like.
Tonight. My nerves flare, but beneath them an ember of excitement simmers. Whether it quickly fizzles or fans out into a full-blown inferno remains to be seen, but the time has come to find out. I need to act quickly before someone younger, someone childless, captures his eye.
But I also know I can”t seem too desperate. The right men find it off-putting, while the wrong men find it irresistibly alluring. Those men target the broken, the vulnerable. And after all I”ve been through, I rank near the top of that list.
Me: Tonight it is. We”ll see what the evening brings.
Gerald: The evening will bring nothing but excellent conversation and friendship, I assure you. I”ll send the link shortly. It”s a date, Alina. Our first of many, I hope!
I sign off with a mix of anticipation and nerves churning in my stomach. After so much darkness, is it possible to find the light? In a little under an hour, I”ll have the start of an answer.
With a deep breath, I brace myself for whatever is about to come.