“I know,” Dominika smiles, but it’s small, as if her successes make her feel guilty. “Not many people get to say they met the love of their life when they were both so young. Or that they can live in a place like this with everything they need. I’m grateful every day. I just want you to find the same happiness. Especially after all you’ve been through.”
My brain mulls over Dominika’s suggestion of meeting an American man online, and immediately begins to fill in the blanks with lots of ‘what if’ scenarios. It's something I've considered before, but there have always been reasons I've pushed the idea out of my head. Just like, until now, I've pushed aside ideas like dancing in a club or setting up some kind of webcam business. Still, things are becoming increasingly desperate as Yara gets older. I need to open my mind, to consider options that were previously closed off.
“But what about my mother?” The worry for her wellbeing has etched permanent lines on my forehead. “If she’s still here, Luchenko could use her as a pawn. You know how he can getwhen he doesn't know where I am for any period of time. I can’t let her be treated like that. I’ll be terrified the entire time I’m over there. Who knows how low he would sink if he felt like he could never reach us again?”
“You can bring her with you," my friend shrugs. "She might have to wait for a while, for immigration processes to go through. But you’ll be able to fly her over to live with you eventually.” Dominika's voice is reassuring, but it doesn't quite reach the tight knot of fear in my chest.
I think about my mother, aging in her cramped apartment. She’s always taken care of me as best as she could, and I’m embarrassed I haven’t been able to return the favor in her later years. There were many times she snuck Yara and I into her tiny residence in the government-run eldercare facility, even when it could have risked her being thrown out onto the streets herself. When she insisted on sharing her meager food rations when she risks running out herself. I find myself distancing myself from her occasionally so she doesn't put herself at risk for me and Yara. Compared to her, we're young and capable, resourceful, and I hate to lean on someone who also has nothing.
“But how do I know I can trust these men online?” The question tumbles from my lips before I can stop it, revealing the quiver of uncertainty beneath my brave mask. "I could be leaving one problem for another, just far away from everything and everyone I know."
“How do you know you can trust the men you meet in person? Is that really any better, or more of a guarantee they’ll treat you well?” Dominika counters, her bold eyebrows knitting together in gentle reproach. “I think we both know that’s not the case.”
Her eyes scan toward a photo on the mantel, a family picture that I always try not to focus on. She’s right, though. I met Luchenko in person, in what could be described as a more traditional way, and look where that got me. That said, if allof the horrible things hadn’t happened, Yara wouldn’t exist. So, despite the pain I had to endure, I wouldn’t change anything for the world.
“I don't know…" I bite my lower lip. "It just seems too risky, especially with a child to think about.” I wrap my hands tighter around the teacup, seeking comfort in its warmth.
“You can deal with a broken heart, Alina. You’ve done it before and you can do it again.” She says it with such conviction, as if believing in me enough for both of us. "This isn't about falling in love. Think of it as a transaction of sorts. It's about keeping you and Yara safe."
“Maybe you’re right,” I sigh. “Besides, it feels like I’ve tried just about everything else. It’s time for a change, and I’ll do anything to give Yara the life that she deserves.”
Dominika nods. “Just be careful, Alina. I know I’m the one suggesting this, but there are risks attached. Vet people thoroughly, and trust your gut." She pauses and scans the room, as if she's suddenly concerned our conversation is under surveillance. Which is a definite possibility. "The last thing any of us need is another Luchenko in our lives.”
Chapter 2
Alina
The computer screen glows in the dim room, casting shadows over Yara's sleeping face. The hard drive chugs and churns, struggling to navigate even the simplest web pages. Having access to a computer at all feels like a miracle, courtesy of a government program that attempted, yet largely failed, to provide technology access to the poor. My heart pounds as I slowly scroll through page after page of dating profiles, searching for something—anything—genuine. I almost give up several times as the internet intermittently cuts out, each disruption forcing me to start over.
Come on, Alina. You didn't come this far to back out now.
With a deep breath, I click the blinking 'Join Now' button and start filling out the profile. Name, age, location...the basics.
Then the open-ended questions. Hobbies. Interests. Dreams. Three things that feel like distant and frivolous luxuries.Dumpster diving. Keeping my daughter safe from sex pests. Having at least one guaranteed meal a day without having toshack up with my lunatic baby daddy.I smirk at my honest answer and delete it immediately.
My fingers hover above the keys. Dreams. I have so many, yet none at all. Safety. Security. A place to finally call home.
Home. The word aches inside my chest. When was the last time we truly had one?
I glance at Yara, her chest rising and falling steadily under the frayed blanket. She's the only home I need. Everything else is just details.
The cursor blinks impatiently. Come on, details. Spill your guts so some stranger can decide if you're worth his time. Or so he can figure out how to use the information against us later.
Worth his time. As if that's ever been the problem. More like whether we're troublesome enough to discard when the novelty wears off. Around here, men have a particular penchant for shiny new things—especially shiny, new, young things.
With a sigh, I start typing.
Dreams of safety, security, and stability. Of walls that don't whisper of what they've seen, and doors that lock to keep the darkness out. A place where my daughter can grow without fear of what's around each corner.
Where I can finally breathe again.
Is that too much to ask for? In this life we've been given, maybe. But I have to try. For Yara, I'll always try.
Of course, I don't word my profile in such a brutally honest way. Instead, I remain upbeat and vague in my responses, as if everything is fine.Yoga and poetry. Travel and existentialism. A world filled with kindness, an unlimited supply of art supplies for my daughter, and excellent coffee for me.
One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that nobody, except those very closest to you, actually wants to hear your problems—sometimes, not even them. Hearing the truth makes people feel bad, and nobody likes to feel bad.
I finish the profile, add a photo of us from happier days, and click to make it live.