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Find a gynecologist in the LA area.
Get everything ready for the baby.
I let out a sigh as I set the pen down. When my stomach rumbles, I get up and head to the kitchen where I grab burritos from the freezer.
While they bake in the oven, I brush my hand over my abdomen.
At least you have a little piece of Alek with you.
I look down at my flat stomach, and for the first time, I talk to our unborn child. “Hi.” Intense emotions wash over me again, and my voice is strained as I whisper, “Thank you for not leaving me alone, little fighter.”
It’s taken me four months to sell my family home and to move to LA.
I’ve been super busy, and it’s kept me from losing my mind.
I’ve just entered my third trimester, and ‘little Alek’ is growing quickly.
When the doctor told me I was having a boy, I decided to name our baby Alek Vincent Adams – for Alek.
The past four months have done nothing to lessen the longing and heartache. The trauma is still there, and there’s no way I’ll see a therapist. I can’t bring myself to talk about everything that happened.
And no one will understand.
No one, but Alek.
Needing to take a load off my feet, I sit down on the couch and glare at all the boxes I still need to unpack.
I think Alek would be proud of me. I never thought I’d be able to sell my parents’ house and move across the country.
But here I am.
My hand rests on my baby bump. “Here we are.”
I bought a three-bedroom house in Pasadena. The neighborhood seems nice, and it’s even close to a park.
This is where I’ll raise little Alek.
I’m playing around with the idea of opening a bookstore because studying to be an editor is not an option right now. The bookstore will keep me busy until I have time to further my studies.
Letting out a sigh, I scowl at all the boxes again.
“Mommy doesn’t want to work,” I complain as I lie down on the couch. “We’ll just take a little nap, okay?”
Just as I close my eyes, there’s a knock at the front door. My eyes pop open, and I lie perfectly still.
It could be a neighbor.
There’s another knock, and my muscles tense.
Go away.
I lay frozen on the couch for over ten minutes, making sure whoever was at the door has left, before I slowly sit up.
Because of my time in Russia, I have crippling anxiety when it comes to interacting with people.
And I always check the locks. Sometimes I’ll check again and again before my nerves settle.
It’s weird because it’s not like I was taken from my home. I’ve just become a nervous person after everything that’s happened.
