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He doesn’t know that the ground we’re flying toward isn’t just foreign—it’s dangerous. He doesn’t know the people waiting for us carry power like weapons.
I watch the clouds drift by, thick and glowing white beneath the wing. The sky is endless, but it doesn’t feel freeing. It feels like a tunnel. Like every mile brings me closer to something I can’t outrun anymore.
I lean back into the seat, careful not to disturb Maksim’s sleep. He stirs anyway, lips parting around a sigh, his fingers curling tighter around mine, and my heart aches for him.
I tell myself I’m going home for one reason: to see my father on his sick bed. To stand beside my mother when she needs strength. To stand beside her and nurse my father back to health.
And after that, what will happen to me and my son?Will I take him and disappear again?
The small voice in the back of my mind won’t stop whispering. It won’t stop asking questions like ‘What if I can’t leave this time? I press my palm against my chest, like I can silence it by force because it is asking what will happen if Zasha finds out about Maksim.
It always circles back to him, no matter how far I run. No matter how hard I try to pretend he was merely a detour, just a mistake wrapped in need, timing, and power.
But only I know that he wasn’t.
He was the only man who ever made me feel like a woman. And the same man who made me feel like I was disposable.
I look down at Maksim. At the slight part in his lips. The little furrow in his brow that matches Zasha’s when he’s deep in thought.
I brought you into the world, mi amor, and I would never allow you to feel as unwanted as I did.
And yet… if Zasha ever finds out…and wants him…
My stomach twists with that thought.
The plane touches down with a soft thud, tires screaming briefly against the JFK runway before settling into a smooth roll. The descent was gentle—no turbulence, no jerky drops. Just quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Maksim stirs beside me, groggy, eyes half-lidded and puffy with sleep. His hand is still in mine. I squeeze it.
“We’re here,mi amor,”I whisper.
He blinks up at me, disoriented. Then, his smile breaks through.
“We made it to our adventure?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.
“Yes, we made it.”
Customs is surprisingly smooth, and the agent barely looks at us twice. Maksim yawns dramatically during the screening, and the officer cracks a grin before waving us through.
We collect our suitcase quickly. I strap Maksim’s tiny dinosaur-shaped backpack onto his shoulders and grip his hand tightly. As we walk through the terminal, I take a steadying breath. We're really here. After all this time, we're really back.
Maksim hums to himself as he walks beside me, glancing at every screen, pointing out planes and luggage carts and “giant snack machines.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Soon, we’ll arrive at our destination.”
My heart thumps faster at the thought.
After I’d shared our flight details yesterday, Mom had texted saying they’ll have a car waiting. But she didn’t say who she’d send.
The doors slide open with a rush of warm, humid air, and we step outside. The JFK curb side arrival lane is a flurry of chaos—honking, shouting, rolling bags, kids crying, horns blaring. Maksim holds tighter to my hand as we step to the side to scan the waiting vehicles.
Then I see it.
A sleek black SUV pulls up to the curb, its tinted windows glinting in the light. A man steps out from the passenger side—mid-forties, clean-shaven, broad frame in a tailored suit. He approaches confidently, like he knows me.
“Ms. Delgado,” he says with a polite smile. “Your ride is ready.”