When Davina walked into the apartment, the smell of garlic and onions hit her.
Elana was at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce. She looked up, a tired smile on her face. "Hey, you. Long day?"
Davina dropped her keys on the counter, avoiding her sister's eyes. "Yeah. I had a job interview."
"Really?" Elana's face lit up. "Where?"
"A marketing firm downtown." The lie slipped easily from her lips. She couldn't tell Elana the truth. Not about the marriage. Not about the money. Not about the cut on her cheek. "I don't know if I got it yet."
Elana walked over, wrapping her arms around Davina. "You'll get it. You're the smartest person I know."
Davina hugged her back, guilt gnawing at her stomach. "How are you feeling?"
"Fat," Elana laughed, stepping back and rubbing her swollen belly. "The baby is doing gymnastics."
They sat down at the small kitchen table to eat. The pasta was simple, but it tasted like home. Halfway through the meal, Elana dropped her fork, her face paling.
"What's wrong?" Davina asked, reaching for her sister's hand. "Is it the baby?"
"No, no," Elana said, shaking her head. "Just... anxious. About Daisy. The surgery is so expensive. I don't know how we're going to pay for it."
Davina squeezed her hand tight. "It's taken care of."
Elana looked up, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"I got an advance from the company," Davina said, the words tasting like ash. "And the Blackwell Foundation is helping out."
"The Blackwell Foundation?" Elana's brow furrowed. "How did you get them to help?"
"I pulled some strings," Davina said vaguely. "Don't worry about it."
Elana wiped a tear from her eye. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Davina."
"Just eat your dinner," Davina said softly. "And don't worry about the money."
The next morning, Davina drove Elana to the hospital for her prenatal checkup. The waiting room was crowded, filled with expectant mothers and nervous fathers.
In the ultrasound room, the technician spread cold gel on Elana's belly. The whooshing sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the room, strong and steady.
"There it is," the technician said, pointing to the screen. "Perfect heartbeat."
Elana smiled, her face radiant. "It sounds like a drum."
Davina stared at the screen, at the tiny, curled-up form. A new life. A baby that was wanted and loved.
Her hand drifted to her own flat stomach. In a few weeks, she might be carrying a child too. A child that was contracted for, bargained for. A child she would have to give away.
The thought made her feel sick.
After the appointment, Elana went to the restroom, leaving Davina alone in the hallway. Davina watched a couple walk by. The man had his arm around the woman's waist, guiding her protectively. They were laughing, happy.
A sharp pain pierced her chest. She would never have that. Not with Kash. With Kash, there was only cold transactions and bitter words.
Elana came out of the restroom, adjusting her shirt. "Hey, guess what?"
"What?"
"I got a phone call yesterday," Elana said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "From the Blackwell Foundation. From a senior manager."
Davina's head snapped up. "The Blackwell Foundation called you?"
"Yes! The manager had such a sexy voice," Elana giggled, then looked embarrassed. "I mean, he sounded very professional. He said it was a special request from the CEO's office. He wanted to know how Daisy was doing. He was so kind."
Davina frowned. The CEO of a massive corporation wouldn't just have a random patient's mother called by a senior manager as a personal favor. Kash must have really begged him to make that call.
The thought of Kash swallowing his pride to ask his boss for a favor made her feel a strange mix of gratitude and resentment. He was a jerk, but he had come through for Daisy.
But then she remembered the text message. Spend it wisely, gold-digger.
The gratitude evaporated. He wasn't doing this out of kindness. He was doing it to keep her compliant. To keep his investment safe.
"I need to get my own money," Davina said, her voice hard. "I can't depend on anyone else."
"Well, you might not have to wait long," Elana said, pointing at Davina's phone. "Your phone is buzzing."
Davina checked her messages. It was from Gavin Finch, the creative director at the digital marketing agency.
You got the job. Start tomorrow. 9 AM sharp.
A genuine smile spread across Davina's face. It was a small victory, but it was hers. It was the first step to freedom.
She took Elana's hand, and they walked out of the hospital into the bright afternoon sun. The city was loud and dirty and overwhelming, but for the first time in weeks, Davina felt a spark of hope.
