BUILDING WALLS

Three months pregnant, and Katya's body was finally starting to betray her secret.

She tugged her sweater down over the small bump as she walked into the office Monday morning. The fabric stretched tight across her stomach and she'd need bigger clothes soon. Another expense she couldn't afford.

"Morning, Morozova." Her boss, Pavel Sokolov, didn't look up from his desk. Papers were scattered everywhere, coffee rings staining the blueprints. "Conference room. Five minutes. We've got a new project."

Katya nodded and headed to her desk, dropping her bag on the chair. The office was small, just six architects crammed into a converted warehouse space. Cold concrete floors. Fluorescent lights that buzzed constantly. Nothing like the elegant firms in Moscow or St. Petersburg.

But it paid. That's all that mattered.

She grabbed her portfolio and headed to the conference room. The other architects were already there, mostly men, all older than her, all looking at her like she was an inconvenience they had to tolerate.

She'd learned quickly that being young, female, and good at her job made her a target.

Pavel walked in and slapped a folder on the table. "City contract. They want to restore the old Krestovsky Theater downtown. It's a mess, water damage, structural problems, the works. They're looking for proposals by the end of month."

One of the senior architects, Mikhail, leaned back in his chair. "That's only three weeks."

"Then you better start working." Pavel's eyes swept the room and landed on Katya. "Morozova. You're leading on this."

The room went silent.

Mikhail's face turned red. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Pavel crossed his arms. "She's got the best eye for historical restoration. You know it. I know it. Stop being a bitter bastard about it."

"She's been here three months," Mikhail spat. "I've been here twelve years—"

"And in twelve years, you've never brought in a contract this big." Pavel cut him off. "Katya does this right, the city will give us more work. So unless you want to keep designing ugly apartment buildings for the rest of your life, shut up and help her."

Mikhail shoved his chair back and stormed out.

The others followed, mumbling under their breath. Only one woman remained, Daria, the office manager. She was in her fifties, sharp-tongued and no-nonsense.

"Congratulations," Daria said dryly. "You just made an enemy."

"I've had worse." Katya opened the folder and started flipping through the photos of the theater. Crumbling plaster. Rotted wood. Broken windows. It was a disaster.

It was perfect.

"When are you going to tell Pavel?" Daria nodded toward Katya's stomach.

Katya's hand instinctively moved to cover her bump. "Tell him what?"

"Don't play stupid with me, girl. I've had three kids. I know what pregnancy looks like." Daria's voice wasn't unkind, but it wasn't gentle either. "You're what, three months? Four?"

"Three," Katya admitted quietly.

"Are you planning to work until you drop?"

"I'm planning to work until I can't anymore." Katya met her eyes. "I need this job. I need the money. So I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut."

Daria studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Fine. But when you start showing for real, Pavel's going to notice. And he's not going to be happy you didn't tell him."

"I'll deal with it when it happens."

Daria shook her head and left.

Katya sat alone in the conference room, staring at the photos of the ruined theater. Her hand rested on her stomach, feeling the slight firmness there.

*Just hold on a little longer,* she thought. *Let me finish this project. Let me prove I'm worth keeping.*

Then she picked up her pencil and started sketching.

Two weeks later, Katya was drowning.

She worked sixteen-hour days, hunched over her desk with blueprints and sketches spread around her like a paper fortress. Her back ached. Her feet were swollen. The twins were pressing on her bladder constantly, making her run to the bathroom every twenty minutes.

But the design was coming together.

She'd spent hours at the actual theater, climbing through the wreckage with a flashlight and a notebook. Taking measurements. Photographing every detail. The building was almost a hundred years old, and underneath all the damage, it was beautiful.

She could save it. She knew she could.

"Jesus Christ, Morozova. Go home."

Katya looked up. Pavel stood in the doorway, his coat already on. Everyone else had left hours ago.

"I'm almost done," she lied.

"You said that yesterday. And the day before." He walked over and looked at her work. His expression shifted to surprise, then something like respect. "This is good. Really good."

"It's not finished—"

"It's good enough for the proposal." Pavel grabbed her coat from the hook and tossed it at her. "Go home. Eat something. Sleep. You look like death."

Katya wanted to argue, but her body screamed in agreement. She was exhausted.

"Fine." She started gathering her things. "I'll come in early tomorrow—"

"No. You'll come in at normal time like a sane person." Pavel's voice was gruff, but not cruel. "You're no good to me if you collapse."

Katya nodded and headed for the door.

"Morozova."

She turned back.

Pavel was looking at her stomach. At the bump she couldn't hide anymore, no matter how loose her clothes were.

"Daria told me," he said flatly.

Katya's heart sank. "I can still work—"

"I know you can. That's not what I'm asking." He paused. "The father. Is he not helping at all?"

"No." The word came out sharp. Bitter.

Pavel's jaw tightened. "Piece of shit."

Katya almost laughed. Almost.

"Yeah," she agreed. "He is."

"Well." Pavel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't good with emotions. "You do good work. I'm not firing you just because you're knocked up. But after the baby came, Daria said, "twins you'll need time off."

"I know. I'll figure it out—"

"We'll figure it out," Pavel corrected. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

Katya left before he could see the tears burning in her eyes.

That night, Katya sat in her apartment, eating cold noodles straight from the container. Too tired to cook. Too tired to care.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*Heard you're working in St. Krest. Aleksei.*

Katya's blood went cold.

She stared at the message, her appetite vanishing. How did he get her number? How did he know where she was?

Another text came through.

*We need to talk.*

Katya deleted both messages and blocked the number.

She didn't owe him anything. Not an explanation. Not a conversation. Nothing.

He'd called her a whore in front of everyone. Had destroyed her reputation. Had refused to listen when she tried to tell him the truth.

Now he wanted to talk?

"Screw you," Katya whispered to her phone.

She threw it on the couch and went to the bathroom. Her reflection stared back at her dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled into a messy bun, her face thinner than it used to be.

But her eyes were cold now .

Good.

She didn't need to be soft anymore. Soft got you hurt. Soft got you abandoned.

Hard kept you alive.

Katya placed her hands on her stomach, feeling the twins move for the first time.tiny flutters like butterflies.

"Your father doesn't get to know you," she told them. "And neither does anyone from my old life. It's just us now. We don't need them. We don't need anyone."

She meant it.

She'd built walls around her heart, brick by brick, every day since she left Velgorod.

And she wasn't letting anyone tear them down.

Not Aleksei.

Not her family.

Not even the man with amber eyes who haunted her dreams.

She was done being the girl who got left behind.

From now on, she was the woman who survived.