Possess Me by Michelle Heard

 

Chapter 19

 

Everleigh

 

Unlocking the front door, I push it open. Entering my house, which feels more like a grave than a home, I nudge my luggage to the side and lock up behind me.

Walking to the living room, I slump down on the couch and stare at the blank TV screen.

I’m exhausted from the long flight from Russia to Ohio.

Automatically my hand rests on my abdomen. It’s something I started doing when I found out I was pregnant.

Yelena, the kind nurse from the hospital, helped me get my belongings from the hotel. We were just in time as they were going to get rid of everything after three months.

She also helped me make a booking for a flight and dropped me off at the airport. I have her phone number, and although I promised to call, I don’t intend to.

I appreciate everything Yelena and Mr. Vlasov did for me. The old man came to check on me daily until he was sure I’d be okay, then I never saw him again.

I can’t call Yelena and risk the bratva finding out I’m still alive. It’s best I stop all contact.

Every day I pray the bratva have forgotten about me.

Everyone except for Alek.

There’s a sharp pain in my chest, and it feels as if my heart is being ripped out. Curling into a fetal position on the couch, I let out an agonizing cry.

I’ll never see Alek again.

For what feels like the millionth time, I break into a million pieces.

I barely survived my parents’ deaths, but there’s no surviving the loss of Alek.

In that tiny room, he became my everything – my heartbeat, my breaths, my sole purpose for existing.

How do I begin to deal with all the trauma I suffered? How do I pick up the pieces of my life?

In the safety of my family home, I cry for hours, but none of the tears make me feel better.

Once I calm down, I force myself to get up. I find a pad of paper and a pen and start to make a list of everything I need to do.

Put the house up for sale.

Pack everything.

Check the car’s oil and tires.

Hire a moving company.

Move to LA and start a new life.

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.

Getting up, I slowly walk to the front door and peek through the peephole. Not seeing anyone, I check the locks on the door before letting out a breath of relief.

Unable to sleep now, I walk to the nearest box and open it.

Just like I used to whisper with Alek in the dark room, I whisper to our baby, “I wonder what colors you’ll like once you’re here. Should we make your room white and yellow? Your daddy’s favorite color is black, but that’s a little too morbid for a baby.”

I take all the family photos out of the box and arrange them around the living room.

“You would’ve loved your grandparents.”

I don’t have a photo of Alek.

My heart sinks when I realize little Alek will never know what his father looked like.

“Your father is the most amazing person. He’s strong and brave.” My voice cracks as heartache ripples over me. “No one will ever take his place, and you’ll never call another man Daddy.”

I’ll devote my life to raising Alek’s son and giving him a wonderful life.