Page 22 of Mafia Pregnancy
She looks sympathetic, not angry that I’m applying elsewhere.
“You’ll find it’s the same with other states too, I’m sure.
Most agencies want references, background checks, and trial periods.
” She leans forward conspiratorially. “Honestly, walking away from the Vetrov position without another job lined up would be career suicide in this industry. That man has connections everywhere, and it’s one of the best assignments available that isn’t live-in. ”
The implication is clear. If I quit without notice or cause problems at Radmir’s estate, I might find myself blacklisted from domestic work entirely.
The thought makes my stomach churn, because I have no other skills that can quickly support myself and two children.
I’ll keep looking for work from home positions, but I feel stuck for the moment.
“How long would it typically take to find something comparable?”
“In this market? With your specific requirements? Maybe six to eight weeks if we’re lucky.”
Six to eight weeks. By then, I’ll be showing enough that even loose clothing won’t hide the pregnancy. Radmir will almost certainly have already figured out what I’m hiding even if I can resist the urge to sleep with him again.
“I encourage you to check back in a few weeks,” Leslie says. “Holiday season is coming up, and we always see more short-term opportunities then. Sometimes those turn into permanent positions if you make a good impression.”
“Thank you for your time.” I stand up, forcing myself to smile despite the crushing disappointment. “I’ll definitely keep in touch.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with? Any other concerns about your current placement?”
For a moment, I consider telling her the truth about the pregnancy, about the father, about the impossible situation I’ve created for myself. Instead, I rein in that impulse of temporary insanity and shake my head. “No, nothing else. Thank you again.”
I leave in a hurry, feeling the urge to cry.
I make it three blocks from the agency before I have to stop walking.
The afternoon crowd rushes past me as I stand at a busy intersection, processing it all.
There are no immediate job prospects, no easy escape route, and no way to disappear without causing suspicion or damaging my career permanently.
I press my hand to my stomach, where the baby is growing larger each day. At almost twelve weeks, I still have a few weeks before the pregnancy becomes obvious, but not long enough to find a new job in a different state. Not long enough to relocate Leo and establish a new life somewhere safe.
The light changes, and the crowd surges forward, carrying me along with them. I let myself be swept up in the movement, one more person among thousands trying to make it through another day, but even surrounded by people, I’ve never felt more alone.
Back in my car, I sit in the parking lot of a coffee shop and pull out my phone. I have seventeen job search apps downloaded, and I start opening them one by one. I search for anything that might let me earn money while staying hidden.
I scroll through listing after listing, growing more desperate with each dead end.
Most of the legitimate positions require skills I don’t have, like computer programming, graphic design, and technical writing.
The others pay so little I’d never be able to afford rent and Leo’s expenses, let alone the medical bills that will come with the pregnancy.
My phone buzzes with a text from Carmen: How did it go at the agency?
I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back: No immediate openings. Still looking.
She responds immediately: Want to talk about it?
Later. Need to think.
I slide the phone back into my purse and lean my head against the steering wheel.
Three months ago, my biggest worry was making Leo’s tuition payments on time.
Now I’m hiding a pregnancy from the father, planning to disappear with two children, and discovering the life I thought I could build for us might be nothing more than a fantasy.
The worst part is that a small, traitorous part of my heart keeps wondering what would happen if I just told Radmir the truth. If I walked into his office, laid everything on the table, and let him decide what kind of father he wants to be, would he step up?
The memory of his voice yesterday stops that line of thinking cold.
“I can’t do that,” he said when I asked him to choose between his business and me.
If he won’t walk away from his dangerous life for the possibility of a relationship, would he do it for children he’s never met?
I don’t feel comfortable risking telling him about them without having a better idea of what his answer would be.
I start the car and head toward Aunt Molly’s house to pick up Leo. At least I have a few more weeks to figure this out, to find a solution that doesn’t involve disappearing in the middle of the night like a criminal, though I haven’t entirely ruled that out either.
As I drive through the familiar streets of Pacific Beach, I catch myself looking in the rearview mirror more often than usual, checking to see if anyone is following me. Has Radmir decided to investigate my life outside his estate?
The paranoia is new and unwelcome, but I can’t ignore the feeling time is running out faster than I anticipated. Every day I stay increases the risk of discovery. Every day I don’t leave makes it harder to build a new life somewhere else.
By the time I reach Aunt Molly’s house, I’ve made a decision. I’ll give myself two more weeks to find something—anything—that will let me support Leo and the baby somewhere far from San Diego. If nothing turns up by then, I’ll have to consider more desperate measures.
Leo runs to the car with his backpack bouncing and a huge smile on his face. “Mommy, Aunt Molly made cookies, and I helped.”
“That sounds amazing, baby.” I help him into his car seat, trying to match his enthusiasm despite the weight pressing down on my chest. “Tell me all about it.” I turn and wave to my aunt, who stands in the doorway to make sure I’ve got him safely in the car before waving back and shutting it a moment later.
I start driving home as he chatters about measuring ingredients, and scooping cookie dough.
I catch sight of myself in the rearview mirror and grimace.
I look tired, stressed, and more fragile than I want to admit.
I also look determined though. Time is running out, but I’m not ready to give up yet.