Page 15

Eighteen Months Later

It’s a quiet morning, the kind I’ve grown used to over the past year and a half. The air is crisp, and the soft hum of the city outside barely filters through the walls of my small apartment. I like it here—far away from New York, far from the chaos that used to consume my life. It’s peaceful in a way I never thought I’d experience, and in a way I desperately needed.

I sit on the floor, my back resting against the couch as I watch Tyler play with his toys. His little giggles fill the room, and I can’t help but smile as he crawls toward me, his chubby hands grabbing for a toy truck. He’s growing so fast, and every day I’m amazed by how much he resembles his father. His dark hair, the same stormy eyes… even his smile has hints of Timur in it. It’s as if he’s a tiny version of him, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the memories that come rushing back every time I look at him.

“Come here, baby,” I say softly, reaching out to pull him into my lap. He babbles incoherently, his little hands patting my face as if he understands every word. “You’re getting so big, aren’t you?”

Tyler giggles, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and I can’t help but kiss his cheek, inhaling the sweet, innocent scent of him. He’s my whole world now, the one thing that keeps me grounded, even when the weight of my past threatens to drag me under.

Moving away from New York wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I couldn’t stay there, not with the risk of Timur finding out about Tyler. The Russian Mafia had a grip on the city, and even though Timur never mentioned wanting children, I knew better than to assume he’d let us go. Not if he found out. I couldn’t let my son grow up in that kind of world. I refuse to let him be a pawn in a game of power and blood.

Italy seemed like the safest option—a place where I could disappear and start fresh. The Mafia here is different, and I’ve stayed as far away from anything connected to them as possible. So far, it’s worked. We’ve built a life here, just the two of us. While it isn’t always easy, I’ve found a sense of peace in the routine. My days revolve around Tyler, and I’ve never been happier to be consumed by something as simple as being a mother.

Still, there are moments—fleeting, painful moments—where my mind drifts back to Timur. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me. There was something between us, something raw and powerful that I can’t seem to forget, no matter how much time has passed. I hate myself for it. For still thinking about him after everything. For naming our son after him in a way. Tyler. It felt right, even though I tried to convince myself it didn’t. He looks too much like his father to pretend otherwise.

I watch Tyler crawl toward the window, his little fingers gripping the windowsill as he tries to pull himself up. He’s getting stronger every day, determined and stubborn. Just like his dad.

“Come here, sweetie,” I call, scooping him up before he tumbles over. He squeals with delight, his little legs kicking in the air. I press my lips to his forehead, holding him close as I sit back down on the floor. “You’re my whole world now, you know that?”

Tyler gurgles, resting his head on my shoulder, and I feel a swell of emotion rise in my chest. I never thought I’d be doing this alone. Raising a child, building a life far away from everything I once knew. But here we are. Somehow, it’s enough. It has to be enough.

Still, there are nights when loneliness creeps in. When I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I made the right choice. Not just for myself, but for Tyler. Did I rob him of a chance to know his father? Did I take away something that could’ve been important for him? I shake those thoughts away as quickly as they come, reminding myself that Timur’s world is dangerous. It’s violent, and it’s not a place for a child to grow up. I did what I had to do to protect him.

As I sit here, cradling my son in my arms, I can’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Contentment, love, fear, and guilt. It’s all wrapped up together, swirling inside me. I love Tyler more than anything in this world, and I’d do anything to keep him safe. The ghost of Timur lingers in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the life I left behind. A life I can never return to.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it for Tyler or for myself. Either way, I’ll make sure it is. I have to. For him. For us.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by my alarm; I flinch, and Tyler stirs in my lap.

Time for our evening stroll. The routine helps keep me grounded; and it ensures Tyler sleeps through the night.

I buckle Tyler into his stroller, adjusting the straps carefully as he babbles up at me with his big, innocent eyes. His little legs kick out as he watches the world around him, completely unaware of the storm always brewing in the back of my mind. Today, I’ve decided to take him to the park—it’s a sunny afternoon, perfect for getting outside and letting him burn off some energy.

The park is only a short walk from our apartment, nestled between rows of quaint Italian houses. It’s one of my favorite places in this new life of ours. There’s something soothing about the chirping birds and the laughter of children. It feels normal. For a while, I let myself enjoy that feeling of normalcy.

As we walk, I catch glimpses of mothers chatting on benches while their toddlers chase each other on the grass. A few couples stroll hand in hand, and for a moment, I imagine what it might have been like if I hadn’t left. If Timur were here, pushing Tyler’s stroller beside me. The thought both comforts and terrifies me.

Tyler squeals with delight when he sees the swings, his little arms reaching out as if to say, I want to go there! I chuckle softly, pushing the stroller toward the swings as he kicks his legs excitedly. I lift him out, setting him carefully into the baby swing and start pushing gently. His giggles fill the air, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Until I see him.

Across the park, standing near the entrance, there’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a familiar stance that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s wearing sunglasses, but even from this distance, I can tell he looks like Timur. My breath catches in my throat, my hand freezing on the swing’s chain.

No. It can’t be.

My mind races, heart pounding as I glance down at Tyler. He’s oblivious, still laughing as the swing moves gently back and forth. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know that his entire world could shatter if the man standing across the park really is his father.

I swallow hard, gripping the chain tighter as I try to calm the rising panic in my chest. My eyes dart back to the man. He’s talking to someone—laughing even—but the moment feels too long, too terrifying. I can’t shake the resemblance. My instincts scream at me to run, to grab Tyler and leave, but I don’t want to draw attention.

I take a slow breath and focus on Tyler. He’s still too young to notice my anxiety, and I can’t help feeling grateful for that. He doesn’t know about the danger we live with, the fear that someone like Timur could turn up out of nowhere and change everything.

When I finally dare to look back at the man, he turns, and I see his face more clearly. My heart stutters, then drops with relief. It’s not him.

Of course, it’s not him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my shoulders sagging as I try to collect myself. Tyler babbles, his little legs kicking as if to remind me he’s still there, still safe. I bend down to scoop him out of the swing, holding him close for a moment longer than usual. My heart is still pounding in my chest, the rush of adrenaline making my hands shake.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “It’s okay.”

Tyler grabs at my hair, tugging playfully, completely unaware of the fear that just gripped me. I set him back in the stroller, my hands trembling as I strap him in and start walking again. I keep my head down as I push him through the park, eyes flicking over every face we pass. Every man seems to resemble Timur now, every shadow feels like a threat.

What would happen if he did find me? Would he take Tyler from me? Would he hurt me, like I know he’s capable of? Or worse—would he make me live under his control, trapped in a life I never wanted for my son?

I shake my head, trying to force the thoughts away as we continue our walk. The fear lingers, though. It always does. I know the kind of man Timur is—the power he wields, the ruthlessness he’s capable of. If he knew about Tyler, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d come for us. Not to hurt us, maybe, but to claim what he thinks is his. His blood. His legacy.

Tyler is mine too. I’ve spent every moment of the past year and a half building this life for us, protecting him from a world that would chew him up and spit him out. I can’t let Timur take that away.

I finish our errands in a daze, my mind replaying that brief moment of panic over and over again. It’s exhausting. Every day, I live with the knowledge that Timur might find us. It’s like a shadow I can’t escape, always lurking, always waiting.

I steel my nerves and push the stroller out of the park and toward the convenience store, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety from the park. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge, but I can’t help it. Ever since I ran from New York, it’s like I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every man I see is a potential threat, every unfamiliar face makes my heart race. I hate living like this—constantly looking over my shoulder—but it’s the only way to protect Tyler.

As I walk through the aisles of the small store, Tyler starts to get fussy. His face scrunches up, and I know the crying is coming. He’s usually pretty good on our outings, but today he’s been cranky ever since we left the park.

“Shh, baby,” I whisper, bending down to adjust the little blanket tucked around him. “We’ll be home soon.”

He lets out a wail anyway, his tiny fists flailing, and I can feel the stares of the other shoppers boring into me. Heat rises in my cheeks as I fumble with the pacifier, trying to calm him down. He’s never been a quiet crier, and right now, he’s going full throttle.

“Come on, Tyler, please,” I murmur, bouncing the stroller gently in place as I grab a few things off the shelves. His cries grow louder, echoing in the small space, and I can feel my embarrassment growing. I wish Maeve were here. She was always good with kids; cousins and friends’ babies. Always knew what to say or do. If only I had her here now; Tyler would have loved her.

I haven’t talked to her much since I left—only once a year on a disposable phone—but I miss her. I miss having someone to lean on.

“Almost done, buddy, almost done,” I say, grabbing a few more essentials and making my way toward the register.

The cashier eyes me with a mix of sympathy and annoyance as I fumble with my wallet, Tyler’s cries still ringing through the store. I hand over the cash quickly, thanking the cashier before hurrying out the door with my bag of groceries in one hand and the stroller in the other.

As soon as we’re outside, I stop to take a deep breath. The fresh air does little to calm my nerves, but at least we’re almost home. Tyler’s cries turn into soft whimpers as we walk, but I can still feel the embarrassment burning in my chest. I’m sure I made a scene back there. I always feel like I’m being watched, even when there’s no reason to. It’s like I can’t escape this paranoia, this constant fear that someone is going to find us.

By the time we get back to the apartment, I’m exhausted. I take Tyler out of the stroller and carry him up the stairs, shushing him softly as he rubs his eyes with tiny fists. I can tell he’s fighting sleep, but he needs it— we both need it.

I change his diaper, moving through the familiar motions as his cries finally settle into soft sniffles. He’s still cranky, but I can tell he’s close to giving in to sleep. I lay him in his crib, tucking his favorite stuffed bear next to him, and gently smooth my hand over his soft hair.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mama’s here.”

Tyler blinks up at me with heavy eyes, his little mouth opening in a yawn. I smile softly, my heart swelling with love and exhaustion. Being a mom is hard, harder than I ever imagined, but moments like this make it worth it. Just watching him drift off to sleep, his tiny body finally relaxing, fills me with a sense of peace I don’t get anywhere else.

Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I quietly step out of the room, closing the door behind me. The apartment feels empty without his little sounds filling the air. I let out a long sigh as I set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, pulling out the items one by one and trying to ignore the way my hands are still shaking from the day.

I hate that I’ve become like this—jumpy, paranoid, constantly afraid. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to start over, create a new life for us, but Timur is still there, lurking in the back of my mind like a shadow I can’t escape.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts as I put the groceries away. I need to focus on Tyler, on keeping him safe. That’s all that matters now. I glance at the clock on the stove—it’s late, but there’s still time to catch my breath before bed.

I make myself a quick cup of tea and sit down at the small kitchen table, sipping it slowly as I try to relax. The warm liquid soothes my nerves a bit, but the fear still lingers in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what I’d do if Timur ever found us.