“Jesus Christ.” Yelena drops back onto the sofa, her head in her hands. “That was the most toxic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“That was…” Anya trails off, her hand hovering near my arm. “I don’t even have words for what that was.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My brain is stuck in a loop, repeating everything she said. What if everything she said is true, and I’ve been lying to myself this whole time?
Yelena moves closer, her arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me against her. “Don’t you dare believe a word she said. Not one word.”
“You don’t know that.” I shake my head, feeling tears burn behind my eyes. “What if she’s right?”
Yelena shakes me gently, demanding my attention. “Because healthy relationships don’t require you to perform femininity while you’re growing a human being.”
“I haven’t been trying, though. Not really.” My voice breaks completely. “Maybe if I just…”
“Enough.” Yelena’s hands frame my face, forcing me to hold eye contact. “Your mother is toxic and wrong, and you are not going to internalize her bullshit.”
Anya reaches out hesitantly. “Zoya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to side with your mom. That came out wrong.”
“Anya, I love you, but read the room.” Yelena stands, pacing again. “You think putting on lingerie is going to fix the fact that her husband won’t communicate?”
“I’m just saying…” Anya tries again, but Yelena cuts her off with a hand wave.
She pulls away from me, standing abruptly. “I can’t be here right now. If I stay, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Yelena pulls me up from the sofa and into a fierce hug, her hand cradling the back of my head. “Don’t be alone with your thoughts tonight. Call me. I don’t care what time.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
She leaves without another word, and I listen to her footsteps fade away. Anya stays for a moment longer, perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“I know you were trying to help.” I force something like a smile.
“Just…” Anya picks up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “Try talking to him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I’ve tried,” I say quietly. She embraces me, her perfume overwhelming for a second. “Don’t stop trying. Please.”
Then she’s gone too, and I’m alone in the living room. I press my palm against my stomach, feeling the small swell there. Three and a half months. I hear her voice in my head, over and over:You’re already quite thick. Make yourself someone he wants to come home to. Then maybe he’ll fuck you again.
My stomach turns over, and I press my hand to my mouth. My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. A text from Yulia flashes on the screen.
Yulia
Hey! Just uploaded all the photos from the South District project to the shared drive. Sorry it took so long. Hope you’re doing okay. Miss you at school.
Delivered
The photos.
Right.
The photos I took before everything went to hell. I stand slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me. I walk upstairs, down the hall to the room Alexei set up for me. If I can just look at my work, maybe I can remember that I'm more than what she says I am.
I’m in my photography room, standing at the large corkboard Alexei had installed on the wall, surrounded by photos spread across the desk. The printer hums beside me, spitting out more images from Yulia’s files. Image after image of the SouthDistrict. Old factories converted into apartments, students living in conditions that would make a health inspector weep. The next photo joins the others. The broken stairwell with its corroded metal framework and missing safety rails.
The door opens, and I smell his cologne before he says anything. “Finally.” He sounds relieved. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I turn to find him leaning in the doorway. “Here I am.” I try to match his lightness.
He walks in, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood. “You’ve been busy.”