Portland smelled like rain and failed dreams.
We had been in the city for two months. New names, new apartment, new lives. I worked remotely for a nonprofit. Albert did consulting work for—of all things—a security firm. We looked normal. Boring. Safe.
I hated every second of it.
"She is not sleeping through the night," I told Albert at three AM, rocking Grace while staring out our fifth-floor window. "She cries every time a motorcycle passes. Like she remembers."
"Babies do not remember that young."
"Then why does she scream at the sound of engines?" I turned to face him. "Why does she only calm down when she hears gunfire on TV? What kind of baby is comforted by violence?"
"Our baby. Born into a siege. That is what kind." Albert took Grace from me, and she immediately settled agains
