46
Sara
I spend the day pacing my room, my anxiety intensifying with each passing hour. By dinnertime, I’m ready to tear my hair out.
In less than twelve hours, Peter’s dangerous mission will begin, and Yulia still hasn’t come by to talk to me—nor has her husband brought me the promised pill.
“I should have it later today,” he told me when he delivered my lunch. “Though it could be tomorrow as well.”
By tomorrow, it would be too late, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting my jailer to know that I truly need that pill. If nothing else, I can stash it away for future use, and pray that my fertile window wasn’t so fertile this month.
A quiet knock on the door interrupts my pacing.
“Sara?” a woman’s voice asks. “May I come in?”
My pulse leaps with joy. “Yes! Please, come in.”
The door
