CHAPTER 5

At a small clinic across town, a kind-faced nurse confirmed what I already knew.

“You’re about eight weeks,” she said softly, smiling at me. “Everything looks normal.”

Normal indeed.

That night, sitting alone in my apartment, I finally cried.

I cried for the woman I had been when I married Renzo. I cried for the lies, the humiliation, and the years stolen from me. I cried for the fear that still stopped me from leaving him forever.

And then, slowly, the tears stopped.

Come to think of it, somewhere, far away, Renzo Dominico was tearing his world apart, searching for me, and refusing to accept that I had slipped through his webbed fingers.

But here, in this small apartment in Brazil, I was no longer his wife.

_______

2 WEEKS LATER

2 weeks in Brazil taught me one thing: choosing to live was one thing, but learning how to disappear convincingly was another entirely.

I couldn’t simply exist in Brazil and hope time would do the rest. Hope had failed me once already. I needed misdirection… given the fact that Renzo might burst into this apartment at any time.

You see, Renzo Dominico wasn't just a hunter. He was the predator himself and wouldn't hunt impulsively for long. At first, yes. He would rage, destroy rooms, bark orders, and send men in every direction.

But once that phase passed, he would think.

Brazil was never meant to be permanent. It was a camouflage place to scatter pieces of myself across several systems. In simple terms, I needed to become so ordinary that even the tiniest suspicion would slide past me without slowing down.

Of course, my background sounded boring enough to be true and this had me introducing myself in the mirror over and over until my shoulders relaxed naturally.

As for the foreign exchange program, the process was painfully slow, which worked in my favor anyway. 2 damned weeks of long lines, endless forms, photocopies of photocopies, and stamps over stamps… which was…

…fucking perfect. I loved it because it was proof I existed as someone else.

I opened a Brazilian bank account under my new identity, choosing a modest branch where the staff looked more tired than curious. I paid rent a month ahead in cash.

Every morning, I left my apartment with a backpack and a neutral expression, heading to class like thousands of other students scattered across the city.

I complained about assignments and pretended to be stressed about exams. When everyone laughed, I laughed… even if I didn’t understand the joke. I built a paper trail so thick it could choke suspicion.

Receipts. Attendance records. Student emails. Library cards. Bus passes; all proof that I was here.

One afternoon, as I stepped out of a café near campus, I saw them.

Two men in dark suits, way awkward in that heat and among students in sandals and backpacks. They stood near a black sedan parked slightly crooked at the curb.

My stomach twisted painfully.

Renzo.

He’s here.

I kept walking. My heart screamed at my feet to run, but I forced them into an unhurried pace. I reached the corner, turned, and glanced back through the reflection of a shop window.

They were still there.

One of them lifted his hand slightly, as if adjusting an earpiece.

My stomach dropped.

This was it.

Think, Zaria… what next?! Except this was the moment every plan collapsed, shit, shit, shit. I turned into a busy pedestrian street, blending into the crowd. I didn’t look back again, but I felt eyes on my spine, and imagined footsteps behind me.

By the time I reached the bus stop, my hands were shaking.

I boarded the bus, paid, and moved toward the middle, gripping the pole so tightly my knuckles ached. The doors closed with a hiss, and only then did I glance out the window.

The black sedan was gone and so were the men.

By the time I reached my stop, my heartbeat had slowed enough for understanding to creep in and I retraced the moment in my head.

Of course! They hadn’t been watching me! They had been watching the jewelry store behind me. I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Back in my apartment, I locked the door and slid down against it, laughing quietly, breathlessly, tears stinging my eyes.

“Get it together,” I whispered. “He doesn’t own Brazil.”

Still… the encounter changed something. It was time to move as planned. Whatever I did here would have him thinking I was going to settle in Brazil for a long time.

China had always been the real destination anyway. I had spent months researching countries that offered density, complexity, and cultural insulation. Places where foreigners existed by the millions, and where academic systems absorbed people without asking too many personal questions, where Renzo’s influence would thin into irrelevance.

China checked every box.

But getting there required patience which added to the 2 weeks I already have in Brazil.

Then the visa came. I stared at the screen under my false ID  for a long moment before sitting down slowly. China’s student visa process was strict but methodical. With an official admission letter, the JW201 form issued by the university, proof of funds, a clean medical exam, and a valid passport, approval was possible.

I completed my medical exam at an approved clinic. The doctor smiled kindly and congratulated me.

I did not smile back.

While waiting, I attended a small student gathering once, stayed exactly forty minutes, drank water, and left straight for the airport.

I had booked my flight immediately. Brazil to Ethiopia. Ethiopia to Thailand. Thailand to China. That was for different airlines, and separate tickets… next was packing for…

An eerie knock on the door pulled me out of my reverie.

I swallowed hard.

Who would be knocking at this time of the night? I had been careful not to make home-friendly friends.

So who was it?