Page 110 of Filthy Lies

And that love, twisted as it sometimes may be, is the foundation everything else is built on.

We miss you too,I reply.Come home soon.

I set my phone aside and watch Sofiya sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll get another test to confirm what my body already knows.

But today… Today, I’ll allow myself to imagine a future where our children play without armed guards watching from the shadows. Where Vince’s smile comes easier and stays longer. Where we build something that outlasts the destruction we’ve caused.

“Is this a fantasy?” I whisper to the ceiling. “Or is it a map to somewhere we could actually go?”

From the doorway, Anastasia’s voice startles me. “The difference between fantasy and reality,” she says softly, “is simply a matter of how badly you want it—and what you’re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.”

I turn to find her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. In the dim light of the nursery, her expression is unreadable.

“And what if the sacrifice is too great?” I ask. “What if the price is our souls?”

Her smile is knife-sharp in the shadows. “Oh, Rowan,” she says, “haven’t you realized yet? We gave those up a long time ago.”

40

ROWAN

I sleep like shit that night. My stomach stays tied up in knots and my head is even worse than that. Hours tick by like molasses.

The problem is that, somewhere along the line, I’ve started towantthis baby.

It goes against all sense and all reason, but the heart wants what it wants, you know? Try talking it out of that. I’ve never had any luck on that front.

So when the gray dreariness of dawn finally sneaks through the curtains, I get out of bed and creep back into the bathroom.

I squat and pee, just because I need to see it one more time before I can start to figure out what to say to Vince.

Now, the pregnancy test I bought yesterday sits on the bathroom counter—sleek, clinical, impersonal. The harbinger of fate disguised as a plastic stick.

Three minutes until my life gets rocked yet again. They go by insanely slow.

I remember Anastasia’s words from yesterday:“The difference between fantasy and reality is simply a matter of how badly you want it—and what you’re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.”

The truth is, I want it. Despite the danger, despite the complication, despite the absolute fucking insanity of bringing another child into our blood-soaked world… I want to feel life growing inside me again.

My phone timer chimes.

I pick up the test. And…

One line.

One.

Fucking.

Line.

I’m not pregnant.

I blink, certain I’ve misread it. I hold it up to the light, tilt it, shake it, as if the laws of chemistry are just gonna laugh and say,Gotcha!

But the result remains stubbornly, infuriatingly singular.

One line.

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