Page 9 of Marked By His Touch

I swallow my throat tight with frustration. I don’t want to argue, but I need to protect her.

“We’re going to Sarah!” I snap, already heading towards my room. There’s just something I need to grab before we go.

My mom’s jewelry box, a beautiful antique silver thing, lies open, most of the contents gone. My dad’s papers were in there too – her passports, everything is scattered, tossed in a chaotic frenzy.

I just want her necklace.I fall to my knees, searching the floor, fingers frantic. Where the hell is it?

“Ava, we have to leave,” Alexander says from the living room. His voice is tight.

Finally, under a pile of papers, I find the necklace, a simple gold chain with a star and a heart charm. It wasn’t expensive, just a little trinket my dad gave her on their first anniversary. He said the star symbolized the day a star fell on his path, giving his life meaning, meaning my mom. The heart; his love for her. I clutch it tight.

Then my eyes catch something else.

A crumpled newspaper.Well, that is strange.Where did it come from?

I pick it up; the headline is printed in Russian, I think? Or Polish? Why would the intruders leave this behind?

I take a deep breath, my hands trembling.

“Alexander,” I call out, and he’s there in a flash like he always is.

I look at him, hoping he can decipher it.

“How much Russian do you know?” I ask, the newspaper feeling dry and brittle in my hand, rough against my skin.

He shrugs. “Some. Enough to get by with shipping and trades. Why?”

I hand him the newspaper, his brow furrowing as he examines it. He scans the text, his lips moving silently.

A few moments later, he speaks, “It’s about a ship leaving from Russia. Human traffickers, I think—it was fired at from the harbor.” He pauses, his gaze fixed on the newspaper. “It seems someone was trying to stop it from leaving.”

“What does that mean?” I wonder out loud, tilting my head. My brain isn’t connecting the dots.

He shrugs again. “Not sure. We’ll figure it out. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

I nod, I don’t know what the newspaper means, but it feels like another puzzle piece.

I take a deep breath, my hands shaking, trying to steady myself. I pick up a few of their things – a silver ring, a faded photograph – clutching onto a piece of the life that was ripped away. Tears well up, but I force them back.

“I’m not coming back here,” I say, my voice cracking. “This place isn’t home anymore.”

Alexander’s arm slides around my shoulders. “You don’t have to,” he whispers.

I sniffle, burying my face in his chest. Pulling back, my gaze lingers on the ravaged apartment, the remnants of my life scattered like broken glass.

Home is with him.He’s my haven, the only place I find peace.

My fingers trace the foreign words on the crumpled newspaper. I take one last look at the wreckage of a life lost, a home stolen.

Grief and gratitude are two sides of the same coin. I leave the past behind, holding the warmth of the present close.

And then, we leave.

“To Sarah?” he asks, his arm still around me, the other hand resting on the gun at his hip.

I nod.

Chapter 4

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