Iskra
As the days passed my inner torment grew in leaps and bounds.
Not having Vadim in my space helped me focus. It reminded me of my purpose—and every day that purpose was growing a little more inside me. Quietly. Without permission.
He could divorce me.
Cut me off from my child.
At any time.
For no reason.
Clause 10 didn’t require a reason. It didn’t require anything from him except a decision.
The child would be his from the moment it drew breath and I would have whatever access he decided to grant me, which could be none, which could change on a whim, which was entirely and permanently beyond my control.
I wanted to rage at my parents.
But I signed my name.
I sold myself to the devil.
And the devil’s child was growing inside me whether I was ready or not.
I immediately touched my belly in regret. The baby was innocent in all of this.
“Prosti, malyshka,” I murmured, apologising to my tiny bump before opening the door.
Tau stood in the corridor with the faintest hint of a smile when he noticed me cradling it. He said nothing, but the smile was there.
Spartak had been reassigned and I was left with Radovan and Tau. I was certain that was Vadim’s doing. A needle, delivered without a word.
He had been irritable for weeks. I could usually hear him when he came back from work—the certain quality of his footsteps, the doors that closed with slightly more force than necessary. The house had its own language and I had learned to read it.
As I moved into my second trimester I had thought I might make some kind of peace with everything. I hadn’t.
“He is going to meet you there,” Tau said as I closed the door behind me.
“It makes little difference to me,” I said quietly, and began walking down the corridor.
Even as the words left my mouth my eyes drifted toward his hallway. The closed door at the end of it. The east wing that I had learned to navigate around rather than through.
Everything came back to the contract. It always did.
With a sigh I placed my hand on the banister and started downstairs.
Today was about the baby.
Not its dysfunctional parents.
??
??
??
I pretended he wasn’t in the room. It was easier than the alternative.
I asked the nurse about the baby’s position, about whether the nausea would ease, and about feeling low.
She talked me through each question patiently until the last one, where her eyes flicked briefly to Vadim before returning to me — a look that lasted less than a second and said everything about what she had assessed of the room.
“This could be due to hormonal changes,” she said carefully. “Or it could be antenatal depression.”
I felt him shift behind me.
“We can offer therapy to help you recognise and regulate your emotions. There are support groups, and depending on how you continue to feel, there is the medication route.” She patted my hand gently, her touch deliberate and kind. “It isn’t uncommon. I’ll place a referral with the doctor.”
I nodded. Grateful that she didn’t look at me with pity. Grateful that she didn’t make me feel like a failure for not managing to be happy about this.
She moved to the equipment and the screen and instructed me to lie on the padded bed with my stomach bare. I had come prepared. I settled back, rolled my top up, and felt the cool air find my bump.
There it was.
Small. Real. Mine in the only way that mattered and not mine in every way that did.
I lay back while she talked me through the preparation, her voice steady and professional, and tried to slow my breathing.
It was time to meet whoever was growing inside me.
When the baby appeared on the screen, time stopped.
I lifted myself onto my elbows to see.
So small.
So perfectly formed.
The tiny architecture of a person not yet ready for the world—limbs no bigger than my finger, the smaller spots where hands and feet were becoming themselves, a heartbeat pulsing on the screen like a declaration.
And not mine. Not unless I became less.
The thought arrived like being thrown into ice water. I pushed it down and kept my eyes on the screen.
The nurse talked through the measurements.
Slightly small.
Heartbeat perfect.
I couldn’t look away from the tiny limbs. From the hands and feet still finding their shape. From the life on the screen that had been growing inside me for weeks without my permission and had arrived anyway, fully committed, entirely itself.
“So beautiful,” I croaked.
My voice came out wrong. Too raw. Too much.
The nurse smiled and told me she would print a picture.
Behind me, he cleared his throat.
He never said a word. I hadn’t expected him to. He was here to ensure his cargo was in good condition. To confirm the investment was progressing on schedule.
That was all this was.
I kept my eyes on the screen until the image disappeared.
??
??
??
The warmer weather had arrived but it didn’t stop a gust of icy cold wind from hitting my face as I stepped out of the clinic. It felt like a reminder from reality—that Chernograd would give you something and take it back before you’d finished being grateful for it.
Radovan flicked his cigarette into the road, earning a sharp glare from a staff member walking past. Tau opened the rear passenger door and I disappeared gratefully inside.
I didn’t look back at the building or Vadim.
I sat with my purse on my lap and contemplated my next steps. All my vitals were normal so far. Blood pressure fine, for now—something I had joked about in the early days of this marriage as a negotiating tactic and was now monitoring in earnest. Life had a certain sense of humour.
“Did it not go well?” Tau asked from the front.
I glanced up. Radovan’s eyes were already watching me in the rearview mirror. Gearing up to file his report, no doubt.
“It went very well,” I said, and opened my purse.
I carefully took out the scan picture and held it forward.
Tau leaned back to take it from me. He studied it for a long moment — longer than I expected. The car was quiet except for the sound of the engine and the spring wind finding the gaps in the doors.
When he handed it back he didn’t meet my eyes.
“You are blessed,” he murmured, and faced forward again.
I looked down at the picture with a smile I hadn’t planned on.
A new life was a blessing no matter how it came to be. No matter what contract had summoned it into existence or whose name it would carry. It was growing. It had a heartbeat. It had hands becoming themselves on a screen.
My eyes found Tau again. I wondered about his past—whether he had children somewhere, younger siblings, someone he had held a photograph like this for. His reaction hadn’t been cold or disconnected. It had been quiet in the way of someone who understood the weight of what they were holding.
Not what I would have expected from a killer.
I rested my head against the cool glass and watched the city move past. The grey skies persisted. The wind was still sharp. But in a couple of months there would be blue again. The summer was fleeting, but I was accustomed to our climate.
I stroked my belly.
Six more months.
I prayed it was a boy.