Chapter 7 - Eighteen Months of Ordinary DaysPrison did not make Roman disappear.
It made him inconvenient.
That was Jo’s description.
Every Wednesday night he called.
Every second Sunday she visited.
He wrote letters.
Actual letters.
Roman Costa, feared criminal operator, wrote terrible handwritten letters filled with unnecessary commas and surprisingly sentimental observations.
Jo saved every one.
Sylvia moved into a small apartment near the clinic.
She started therapy.
Then college.
She studied social work.
Roman pretended not to be proud.
Nobody believed him.
Jo’s life became strangely ordinary.
Babies.
Night shifts.
Coffee.
Rent.
Letters.
Visits.
There were no men following her.
No black sedans.
No guns beneath tables.
At first she missed the adrenaline.
Then she realized she did not miss fear.
She missed Roman.
There was a difference.
Six months into his sentence, Roman asked during a visit:
“Are you waiting for me?”
Jo frowned.
“What?”
“You’re thirty-two.”
“So?”
“You want children.”
Jo stared.
“Did Sylvia tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“You stare at newborns differently.”
“I’m a midwife.”
“You stare at your patients’ newborns like someone standing outside a bakery.”
Jo laughed.
Then realized he was serious.
“What are you asking?”
“I’m asking whether I’m stealing eighteen months of your life.”
Jo leaned toward the glass.
“No.”
“You should think about it.”
“I have.”
“You could meet someone.”
“Roman.”
“Someone normal.”
“Define normal.”
“Accountant.”
“I hate spreadsheets.”
“Teacher.”
“I hate faculty meetings.”
“Dentist.”
“I’m leaving.”
Roman smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I want you to have everything.”
Jo’s chest tightened.
“What if everything includes you?”
Roman looked down.
“That’s the part I’m still learning to believe.”
A year passed.
Jo was promoted.
Sylvia started volunteering with women who had experienced pregnancy loss.
Mateo opened a legitimate security company.
Roman read books.
Hundreds of them.
History.
Economics.
Psychology.
Parenting.
Jo discovered the last category accidentally.
“You’re reading parenting books?”
Roman looked offended.
“I read broadly.”
“You highlighted an entire chapter called ‘Supporting Your Partner During Labor.’”
“Academic curiosity.”
“Roman.”
“Fine.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I want children.”
Jo’s heart nearly stopped.
“With me?”
“No, Josephine. With the prison librarian.”
She laughed so loudly a guard looked over.
Roman smiled.
“With you.”
Jo placed her hand against the glass.
“One day.”
“One day,” he agreed.
Three months before his release, Jo discovered something that changed everything.
She was pregnant.
The impossible had happened during their final weeks together before his sentence.
She had dismissed the irregular cycles as stress.
Then exhaustion.
Then denial.
She was already well into the pregnancy when she finally tested.
Jo sat alone in her bathroom holding the result.
She laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again.
She told Sylvia first.
Sylvia screamed.
Then Jo told Roman.
She waited until the next visit.
He sat behind the glass.
“You look strange.”
“Thank you.”
“No. Different.”
Jo took a breath.
“I’m pregnant.”
Roman did not move.
At all.
For perhaps ten seconds.
Then:
“What?”
“I’m pregnant.”
His face emptied.
Jo suddenly panicked.
“Say something.”
Roman’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Then his eyes filled with tears.
Jo had never seen him cry.
Not when Sylvia lost her baby.
Not when Carlo betrayed him.
Not when he surrendered.
Now tears rolled silently down his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
“Healthy.”
“How far?”
“Far enough that you’re going to yell at me for not noticing sooner.”
Roman laughed through tears.
“Josephine.”
“I know.”
He pressed his palm against the glass.
Jo pressed hers against his.
“Boy or girl?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Next appointment.”
Roman smiled.
Then his face changed.
“I won’t be there.”
Jo’s happiness cracked.
“No.”
He looked devastated.
“But you’ll be there for everything after.”
Roman nodded.
May you like
He held onto that sentence like a drowning man.
Everything after.
