Chapter 5 #2
The test slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.
I stared at it lying there, my mind completely blank.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant.
The father was Alexander Volkov—a mafia boss I'd met twice, a dangerous man I'd been too terrified to contact again.
And I'd just lost my job, had exactly one hundred and eighty-two dollars to my name, and owed six weeks of back rent.
What was I supposed to do?
I curled up on the cold bathroom floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
The tears finally came—silent and devastating, like a dam bursting.
My phone rang.
Yekaterina.
I stared at her name on the screen, hesitating before finally answering.
"Hello?"
My voice came out as a croak.
"Anna? What's wrong? You sound terrible."
Yekaterina's concern was immediate. She'd been my closest friend since high school—despite coming from wealth while I had nothing, she'd never treated me as anything less than an equal.
"Katya..."
Her nickname came out as barely a whisper.
"What happened? Where are you? I'm coming over right now!"
"I'm home..."
"Stay right there. Twenty minutes!"
She hung up.
I remained on the bathroom floor, arms wrapped around my knees, waiting.
The tiles were freezing, cold seeping through my clothes, but I couldn't summon the energy to move.
Twenty minutes later, frantic knocking echoed through my apartment.
"Anna! Open up!"
I dragged myself to my feet and unlocked the door.
Yekaterina stood there in an elegant Chanel suit with a Hermès bag—clearly she'd rushed over from some society function. But she didn't care about appearances now, immediately pulling me into her arms.
"Oh my God, what happened? You look awful!"
Her expensive perfume—some limited edition Dior—was comforting and familiar. It made the tears come faster.
"I... I can't..."
The words stuck in my throat.
She guided me to the bed, those beautiful dark eyes full of worry. "Take your time. Tell me what's going on."
I gathered every ounce of courage I had left and forced the words out.
"I'm pregnant."
Yekaterina went completely still.
She stared at me with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, clearly stunned.
"What? You're... pregnant?"
I nodded as fresh tears spilled over. "And I lost my job today."
"Jesus..."
For a moment she said nothing, then pulled me close. "Oh, honey... how did this happen?"
In her arms, I finally let myself fall apart completely.
All the fear, frustration, and despair I'd been holding in came pouring out. I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, like a lost child.
Yekaterina held me through it all, rubbing my back, not saying a word—just being there.
When I finally calmed down, she asked quietly, "What about the father? Does he know?"
I shook my head. "He doesn't know. And I can't tell him."
"Why not?"
I met her eyes. "Because he's Alexander Volkov."
The color drained from Yekaterina's face. "The... the mafia boss?"
I nodded.
She was quiet for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "Anna, you really know how to complicate your life."
"I know..."
"But," she took my hands in hers, her voice firm, "whatever you decide to do, I'm here for you. Whether you keep the baby or..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but I understood.
I placed my hand over my still-flat stomach, knowing a tiny life was beginning there.
"I want to keep the baby."
The decision had been made the instant I saw those two red lines.
"Then that's what we'll do," Yekaterina said without hesitation. "Don't worry about money—I'll help you."
"Katya, I can't—"
"Don't even try to argue with me," she cut me off. "Remember in middle school when those bullies were making my life hell? You stood by me every single day. You even got into fights defending me. Now it's my turn to take care of you."
My eyes filled with tears again.
"Thank you."
"We're besties," she said simply. "That's what besties do."
That night, Yekaterina stayed with me.
We lay together on my narrow single bed just like we used to during high school sleepovers. She told me about the tedious parties she'd been attending, the pretentious socialites, her parents' constant pressure to get married.
I listened, occasionally managing a small laugh, feeling some of the crushing weight lift from my chest.
But after Yekaterina fell asleep, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
I placed my hand gently on my stomach.
"Baby," I whispered, so quietly only I could hear, "I'm going to protect you. No matter what happens, I promise."
The next morning, I made my decision.
"I'm leaving the city."
Yekaterina was at my tiny stove, making breakfast with organic eggs and whole grain bread she'd picked up from an expensive market. She turned around, startled.
"Leave? Where would you go?"
"Somewhere he'll never find me," I said firmly. "Katya, you don't understand. If he discovers I'm carrying his child... I don't know what he'd do. Maybe he'd force me to get an abortion. Maybe he'd keep me prisoner. Maybe..."
Images from gangster movies flashed through my mind—kidnapping, violence, murder.
"He's too dangerous. I can't take that risk."
Yekaterina considered this, then nodded slowly. "I understand. But what about work?"
"I'll find something in another city..."
"Wait," she interrupted, pulling out her phone. "I have a better idea."
She dialed a number.
"Hello, Uncle Miga? It's Katya... Yes, it's been too long... Listen, is your newspaper still hiring? I have a friend—she's an excellent journalist... Perfect, thank you so much!"
She hung up and smiled at me. "It's settled. The Morning Post in Manhattan. It's small, but legitimate. The pay isn't much, but it'll be enough for you and the baby."
I stared at her in amazement. "Katya..."
"Don't thank me yet," she said seriously. "Anna, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. Now let me return the favor."
Tears spilled down my cheeks once more.
But this time they weren't from despair—they were from gratitude.
A week later, I stood on the platform at Penn Station.
It was well past midnight, only a handful of other passengers waiting in the dim yellow light that cast long shadows across the concrete.
I gripped the handle of my cheap suitcase—everything I owned crammed inside. A few changes of clothes, some books, and that old camera.
Yekaterina stood beside me, her eyes red-rimmed as she fought back tears.
"Call me as soon as you get there."
"I will."
"Take care of yourself. And the baby."
"I promise."
"If you need anything—money, help, anything at all—you call me immediately. Don't try to handle everything alone."
"I won't."
The train pulled into the station with a thunderous roar that cut off our conversation.
We held each other for what felt like forever, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
Finally, Yekaterina pulled back gently. "You need to board. Don't miss it."
I nodded, shouldering my bag and pulling my suitcase toward the train car.
At the door, I turned for one last look.
She stood on the platform waving, tears finally spilling over.
I waved back, then stepped aboard.
I found my seat, wrestled my suitcase into the overhead compartment, and settled by the window. Outside, Yekaterina was still there, watching my car.
The train lurched into motion.
I pressed my face to the glass, watching the platform slide away, watching Yekaterina's figure grow smaller and smaller until she vanished entirely into the night.
I leaned back in my seat and watched the city lights streak past the window.
New York.
I'd lived there for almost six months. There had been laughter and tears, dreams and heartbreak.
Now I was leaving it all behind.
Going to start over in a place where no one knew my name.
My hand found my stomach again.
"Baby," I whispered, "we're going somewhere new. Your father won't be there, but I will. And I'm going to give you the best life I can."
Outside, the city lights gradually faded, replaced by empty darkness.
I closed my eyes and let the tears fall silently.
The train carried us forward into the unknown.