Shadows and support

The first wave of cramps hit like a dull blade, a heavy, dragging heat that settled deep in my pelvis. It was the unmistakable signal that the abortion process had begun—the clinical reality of the medication finally manifesting as physical toll. I shifted on the couch in the living room area of the suite, bracing my hands against the cushions, trying to keep my breathing shallow and silent. I could feel the sweat beginning to bead at my hairline, a cold dampness that contrasted with the localized fire in my gut.

Across the room, Bob was checking his gear near the kitchenette, but the rhythmic sound of his movement stopped. I didn't have to look up to know he was watching me. We had shared a lifetime of tells; he knew the specific way my shoulders slumped when I was white-knuckling through pain.

"It’s starting, isn't it?" Bob’s voice was quiet, devoid of judgment.

"I’m fine," I lied, the word catching as a sharper cramp flared.

"Don't do that," he said, walking over. "Don't perform for me, dude. You’re my kid sister and I know when you’re not ok. Just tell me what you need, Marie. Right now."

"Ibuprofen and a shower," I managed to say. "I need to be under hot water for a while."

Bob nodded and became instantly focused. He went over to his bag, unzipping a side pocket and pulling out a bottle of Advil. He didn't ask how many I wanted or needed; he just shook three tablets into his palm. Turning to the humming mini-fridge near him, he grabbed a bottle of water from inside, cracking the seal for me before handing it over.

"Take these," he murmured.

I swallowed the pills, the cold water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in my gut. A few minutes later, I forced myself up and headed to the bathroom. Once inside, I clicked the lock and leaned against the door, breathing through another spike of pain. I reached over and cracked the bathroom window open, letting the sub-zero Russian air cut through the heat of the bathroom.

I stripped slowly, the movements mechanical. In the tub, I lit my panties on fire—a visceral, desperate act to erase the evidence of the blood, watching the small flame lick at the fabric until it was gone. I let a minute or two go by before I threw the water on. I hopped in and stood under the spray for what felt like an eternity. A few blood clots escaped from my body and I knew more was to come.

I showered, dressed, and used pads to catch the rest of the clots and the pregnancy sac. Once I brushed my hair, staring at my pale reflection until I looked somewhat human again, I stepped back out to the living room area.

I sat back down on the couch, the silence of the suite heavy between us. Bob pushed the water bottle closer to me, his eyes searching mine.

"Drink," he said softly. Then he leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "Tell me, Marie. What do you need? Really?"

The walls I’d built up finally crumbled. "I want to be in Vic's arms," I whispered, the admission feeling like a fresh wound. "But I know the reality. He’s permanently banned from this country, and even if he could be here... he isn't 'man' enough for this. He couldn't handle seeing me like this. I don't even want to see him again."

Bob let out a short, dry chuckle and shook his head. "Most men don't deal well with blood, Marie. They especially don't deal well when they have to see a woman they love go through a tough situation like this. It scares them."

I looked at him—the one person who hadn't been scared off. "And you? How are you dealing with this? You’re a strong Catholic, Bob. Doesn't this go against everything that you believe in?"

Bob was quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. "I don't agree with your decision as I believe in the sanctity of life," he said finally, meeting my gaze with a steady, honest look. "But I also understand the reality of it. At this stage, it wasn't a fetus and it wasn't a baby but just an unformed clump of cells. But regardless of that..." He reached out, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder. "This is your decision. And you're my sister. I’ll always stand by you and support you, Marie. No matter what, even if I don’t agree with it."

The exhaustion finally won. With the heat of the Advil kicking in and the weight of the conversation behind us, I felt my eyes grow heavy. I shifted on the couch, curling my legs up, and drifted into a thick, dreamless sleep.

I didn't wake for a few hours. When I finally did, it wasn't the pain or the cold that brought me back, but the sharp, insistent vibration of my phone. It was a text from Sera.

“Heard from Boris,” she said. “He says he’s on his way. He’s taking a different route than the one you took to stay under the radar. He thinks he’ll be in Moscow in three days.”

I stared at the glowing text for a second, my mind still hazy from sleep and the lingering ache in my body. Three days. In my current state, three days felt like a lifetime of waiting in these shadows. I looked over at Bob, who was still nearby, his presence a quiet anchor in the room.

“Boris?” he asked, seeing the blue light of the phone reflecting in my eyes.

“Yeah,” I murmured, my throat dry. “He’s three days out as he’s taking the long way.”

I looked back at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the glass. There was so much I could have said—about the pain, the silence, or the fire in the tub—but I didn't have the energy to translate any of it into words. I typed out a short, hollow reply.

“Ok. Thanks.”

I set the phone back down on the side table, the light fading into the dark room. I managed to sit up just enough to take a few more long swallows of water, the liquid soothing my parched throat. I shook two Tylenol into my hand, swallowing them down to stay ahead of the next wave of pain. Without saying another word to Bob, I laid back down, pulling the blanket that he placed on me up to my chin. The darkness of the suite felt heavy and protective as I fell back asleep for the rest of the night, not opening my eyes again until the pale morning light began to bleed through the curtains.

When the sun finally hit the room, I felt a different kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes after a battle. I forced myself out of bed, heading straight for the shower to wash away the sweat of the nigh and to check the process of the abortion. After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I raided the mini-fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and a yogurt.

I sat at the small table, eating slowly as my strength returned. Bob was already up, nursing a cup of coffee. I looked at him, realizing how much he’d carried for me over the last thirty-six hours.

“Bob,” I said, setting the empty yogurt cup aside. “You should find Polina.”

He lowered his cup, looking at me with a confused frown. “Polina? Why?”

“Because,” I said, leaning back. “You need to blow off some steam. And let’s be real—she’s beautiful. You deserve a break from all of this.”

He was silent for a moment, then he gave a slow, contemplative nod. “How am I supposed to find her?”

I didn't answer right away. I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text to Fritz. A minute later, the screen lit up. “She’s on her way up to the suite,” I told Bob, relaying the message.

As Bob headed into the bathroom to shower, I moved with a new sense of purpose. I grabbed a small bag and began throwing things in—a change of clothes, some travel hair care, and my toothbrush and toothpaste. I wasn't going to be the third wheel in my own suite while my brother finally got a moment of peace.

Once Bob emerged from the bathroom, fresh and dressed, I zipped my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

“I’m heading out,” I told him. “I’ll be spending the day and night elsewhere. You and Polina should have some privacy.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but then he just nodded, his expression softening. I headed for the door, leaving the weight of the night behind me for a while.

As I headed past reception, I saw Fritz. I stopped by the desk, the cool air from the entrance already beginning to swirl around my ankles.

"Fritz," I said, catching his attention.

He looked up, offering a professional nod. "Yes, Marie? Is everything all right?"

"I need a favor," I said, lowering my voice slightly. "The bedding that will be used today and tonight in the suite? I want you to make sure it's burned in the morning. All of it."

Fritz didn't blink. He simply leaned in and gave a short, firm nod. "Consider it done. I'll make sure it's taken care of personally."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a small piece of the burden lift.

I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed out into the biting Russian cold.