I apologized repeatedly, and then I hushed because I’ve realized taking the blame on myself and shutting up is the smartest thing to do. Deep breath after deep breath. The warning woman was gone, but her face was locked in my mind: brown hair, a tiny mole on her lower cheek, eyes of grayish blue, and a slightly crooked front tooth. The security people, reassured I wasn’t a threat to anyone or to myself (after my profuse apologies), took their leave.

Danielle said, “You don’t want there to be an incident report in the airport.”

I was stunned. “What, you mean the Russian authorities could still find out about this? That woman spoke to me. I’m not lying.”

“Of course you’re not,” she said. “I believe that you heard what you said.”

That wasn’t the same as believing that she said it, but I dug my nails into my palms. “Danielle. Why would someone not want us to fly to Russia? Is there another family interested in Grant?”

“No, of course not. That’s not how it works.” Danielle was pale, shocked, flustered.

“Maybe this is a stunt to rattle us. Make us pay more bribes,” Kyle said.

“It’s not a stunt. I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Danielle shook her head. “Is it at all possible you misheard this woman?”

“No!”

“At. All. Possible?”

And what answer can I give to that? Of course it’s possible. I felt like my husband and my friend were stepping back from me, looking at me with new eyes, worried about me when it’s me who worries about other people. I took a deep breath. Centered myself. Thought of you. Thought of you in that cold orphanage, of how little you smiled.

I could do this.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I repeated it like a prayer.

“If you’re not up to this…” Kyle started to say in that patronizing voice I loathed, and I shook my head. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it so he’d shut up.

“I’m exhausted,” I said. “I’m overwrought. I’m just so sorry.” I could feel the weight of stares on me, and I didn’t know if my fellow passengers were British or Russian, if someone was watching me to see if I obeyed the warning woman.

Why would anyone care what I did in Russia? What we did?

Who didn’t want us to have a baby?

Why did someone hate us?

Kyle leaned over and whispered to me, “This can’t be like in the cancer center. I love you, but get ahold of yourself.”

My mouth quivered a little. I’ll tell you about that one day, but it was me standing up for my child, insisting on information and care for her, not wanting my baby to be a number but a human fighting a terrible disease.

I just can get…real determined.