Page 64 of Ruthless Salvation

While I stood reeling over the admission, he released his hold on my shirt and took the plates to the sink, severing our connection.

I’d never felt more ashamed or inadequate. Here was a man who clearly had trust issues, and I was about to prove him right in the worst sort of way.

Whether I told him the truth about me or not, the secrets I’d kept felt more and more like a nasty betrayal. That was why I prevented myself from forming attachments and a secondary reason for moving every six months. My past complicated everything.

I’d grown lax in Chicago and convinced myself that I no longer needed to run. And now, I was in danger of self-destructing before I ever made it out of New York.

Past

LeavingRussia taught me that it was possible to have everything and nothing at the same time. To win and lose in equal measure, resulting in a cataclysm of emotion.

I was finally healthy and had been given my freedom. There was no descriptor adequate for that feeling. Elation. Relief. Boundless hope.

But at the same time, returning to the US without being able to go home highlighted all that had been taken from me. Eighteen months after losing my parents and going in search of my birth mother, I was no closer to finding her and had tacked on the devastating loss of a pregnancy and the knowledge that I might never see my remaining family again.

Everything I’d endured in Russia had all been for nothing.

During the six months I spent recovering in St. Petersburg, that reality often plagued me, its poisonous barbs sinking deep into my flesh until the pain was insufferable. If it weren’t for the fleeting moments of relief that enveloped me in warmth when I remembered I’d regained my freedom, I might not have survived those seemingly endless days.

At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive.

Those first weeks back in the US had been enormously challenging. But with time, those tiny pinpricks of hope grew into swaths of uplifting sunshine.

I had my whole life ahead of me.

As I stepped out from beneath Damyon’s malignant shadow, I was able to see that the losses I’d suffered, though heartbreaking, were not all that defined me. I’d known exquisite joy in my childhood, and there was no reason I couldn’t find that again.

I was forever changed as a person, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing. The more I thought about it, the more adamant I became that I would determine my outlook rather than allow my circumstances to dampen my view.

I chose to be a survivor, not a victim.

Ulyana’s contacts had been invaluable by helping to smuggle me into Estonia, then on to Canada. By the time I took my first steps back on US soil, the seeds of optimism had firmly taken root. I couldn’t go home to Savannah, but I was free to start over anywhere else I wanted. I’d been smuggled into the country via Toronto and made my first temporary home in Detroit. Not exactly paradise, but everyone had to start somewhere.

I fumbled through the process of finding a place to live and getting a job while staying off the grid. I hadn’t heard or seen any sign of Damyon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there looking. I planned to move every six months to a new city and start over, at least for a few years until I felt safe enough to stay somewhere more permanently.

Columbus.

St. Louis.

Nashville.

Pittsburgh.

Indianapolis.

Chicago.

The Windy City. That was where I found myself after three years on the run. My six-month stint was quickly coming to an end, yet I was reluctant to plan my next move. The small studio apartment I’d been living in came furnished and allowed me to rent month-to-month, which wasn’t always easy to find. The place had come to feel like home more than any previous apartment.

I’d even found a way to keep my connection with Honey alive, however tenuous. I allowed myself to send her a letter with a cashier’s check once a quarter. She’d never had much money, so I liked to send what little extra tip money I could stash away. I kept the content of my letters vague but positive. I didn’t want her to worry, but I also couldn’t risk giving away any clues to my location.

The first time I wrote, it was out of guilt. I had to reassure her I was okay. Then it became a sort of balance check—a lifeline to my past that kept me centered. Each quarter, I took a day trip to a small town unconnected to me and sent a letter with no return address. Even if Damyon monitored her, he couldn’t trace the letter back to me.

That was assuming he managed to locate her. I hadn’t told him more than her pet name. She’d outlived all three of her husbands, my grandfather being the first of them. With each new marriage, she took her new husband’s name and moved. She wasn’t impossible to track down, but it also wouldn’t be easy.

The fact that she was still unharmed gave me the confidence to consider settling down. I couldn’t live on the run forever.

“What do you think, Blue Bell? Is it time to find a real home?” I hugged the sweet Siamese kitty to my chest. He was the other reason I’d been so happy in Chicago.