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"Mom, what did you say?" My voice shook, the airport noise suddenly fading into the distance. "You're coming to Chicago?"

"Yes, baby. Something felt wrong this morning—you sounded so broken. I lay in bed thinking about it, then booked the earliest flight I could find." Mom's voice was gentle but firm. "Whatever happens, we face it together. Mother and daughter."

That's when I completely fell apart.

Tears poured out like a flood. I covered my mouth, trying not to sob out loud in the middle of the airport, but my whole body shook uncontrollably. People stared, but I was past caring.

"Mom," I choked out between sobs. "I need you. I really need you."

"I know, baby, I know." Mom's voice started trembling too. "Four hours and I'll be in Chicago. Where are you now?"

"The airport." I wiped at my tears, voice hoarse. "I was going to fly to LA to find you."

"Don't leave, you hear me?" Mom's tone turned urgent. "Wait for me. We'll figure this out together."

I nodded, then realized she couldn't see me. "Okay, I'll wait."

After hanging up, I rushed to the service counter to cancel my flight. The agent took one look at my swollen eyes and kindly didn't ask questions, just handed me a pack of tissues.

The next four hours were the longest of my life. I paced the arrivals hall, checking the time every few minutes. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest.

The baby seemed to sense my emotional turmoil. Mild morning sickness had me running to the bathroom constantly. Every time I caught my reflection—pale, gaunt, hollow-eyed—I remembered the pampered woman at the estate, the naive girl who thought she'd found true love.

That girl was dead. She died the moment the truth came out.

"Flight UA2156 from Los Angeles has arrived..."

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest at the announcement.

Passengers poured through the gate. I stood on tiptoes, desperately searching for Mom's familiar figure. She was always easy to spot—petite frame, slightly hunched shoulders, that careful way she walked. Years of illness had made her look more fragile than other women her age.

Then I saw her.

Mom dragged a beat-up suitcase behind her, hair a bit messy, face paler than usual. She was searching the crowd, too, and when our eyes met, every wall I'd built crumbled completely.

"Mom!" I screamed, running toward her, not caring about the stares.

"My baby!" Mom dropped her suitcase and opened her arms.

We crashed together in the crowded arrivals hall, both of us crying. My tears soaked her shoulder while hers dripped onto my hair. People stared—some sympathetic, some curious—but I didn't give a damn.

In that moment, I just needed my mother's arms around me.

"It's okay, it's okay." Mom stroked my hair over and over, her voice shaking as she comforted me. "Mama's here now. Nothing to be afraid of."

We cried until airport security came over to ask if we needed help. Mom pulled out tissues and wiped my face, just like when I was little.

"Look at you, so skinny." She touched my cheek tenderly. "You haven't been eating properly these past few days, have you?"

I nodded, not daring to tell her I'd been throwing up everything I tried to eat, whether from morning sickness or emotional trauma.

"Let's get out of here." Mom grabbed her suitcase handle with one hand and gripped mine tightly with the other. "Find somewhere we can really talk."

We didn't go back to my old apartment. Gennady knew where we lived, and while I didn't think he'd hurt us, what about Ginnie and the others? Besides, that place had already been broken into. I couldn't risk Mom's life.

We found a small apartment on the edge of the city. Cheap rent, terrible conditions, just the bare basics—a worn-out couch, small dining table, two chairs. The kitchen was just a corner with a fridge that made weird humming noises. Water stains decorated the walls, and one corner of the ceiling was actively leaking.

But at least it was safe.