The walk back to Suda’s building felt endless. My legs were shaking. My hands trembled as I climbed those narrow stairs, as I pushed open the door to the rooftop.
The space looked exactly the same as it had this morning. My mattress in one corner. His in the other. The camping stove sitting between us like a border neither of us crossed.
I collapsed onto my mattress, pulled my knees to my chest, pressed my face against them.
What was I doing?
I’d come here with a plan. Find a husband. Get pregnant. Go home. Simple. Clinical. Controlled.
Instead I’d found an infuriating stranger who saw through every lie I told, who made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, who kept interfering when I needed him to just leave me alone.
My phone buzzed. Jennifer again.
47 hours. Please, Vivian. Pleas
