ire

d me to the master bed after I'd fallen asleep-a performative act of a caring husband. T

I retched into the toilet, but only bile came up, a visceral re

throom across the hall, the one Katia had clearly appropriated. The small trash can was

disposable rubber gloves from under the sink-a habit from my lab days-and walked

rk, pin

was pr

a new life, a new future being built on the ruins of my

Are you

e bedroom doorway. He saw my pale face, my hand

s hand warm on my arm. "Da

crawling on my skin. I shifte

lie came easily, my suppose

nt. Your birthday is next week. I'm throwing you a party, a proper g

ng distraction to s

ce flat, moving past him toward the kitchen.

o the balcony, believing the glass door offered privacy from a bli

low murmur. I

her, but it was just to keep things stable... The baby... we'l

a problem to

rator door. I poured myself a glass of orange juice, my m

just about leaving. It was about dismantling his world as thoroughly as he h

wrap his arms around me from behind. He carried th

old machine calculating the best places to hide m

r, his breath stale with whiskey, "it

believ

ng to him on the phone, orchestrating the party with tyrannical precision. I heard him arrange fo

home anymore. I

until my birthday. Seven days to gather the evi

was one