An hour after Max left the phone rings. The sharp, insistent sound tears through the silence like a gunshot in an empty room. I flinch, my heart dropping somewhere down, and my chest feels tight. The screen shows an anonymous number.
My fingers betray me and tremble, and for a moment I freeze, staring at the faceless digits as if they could tell me anything. Inside, everything tightens with a sense of foreboding, but I gather the last drops of courage, gripping the phone so hard that my knuckles go white. Slowly, almost without breathing, I swipe the screen to answer the call.
"Hello?.." I force out, barely audible, struggling with all my strength to suppress the tremor in my voice, as if every word passes through a frozen fog of fear creeping into my chest.
"Hi, Katrin," comes the voice I hate more than anything in the world. It is like a poisonous, cold wind that pierces straight to the heart, making the blood freeze in my veins and my mind cloud with terror.
"Missed me?" Ivan asks cheerfully, as if he hasn't destroyed my beautiful life, as if he hasn't broken that fragile thread that connects me to happiness, seeming to enjoy every moment of my pain, every single tear.
"Where is she?" I ask, my throat tight, every word loaded with all my anxiety and despair, the weight of the world on my shoulders. I mean my daughter, that light that still flickers somewhere out there, though dimming with each passing day.
"With me? Want to talk to her?" he asks mockingly, as if savoring every tear, every break in my heart, as though it were his little victory over my soul.
"Yes," I answer briefly, trying to keep all my pain from slipping through my voice. I know he loves to revel in other people's suffering, that for him it is like a game, where Ivan is the puppeteer, and I am the puppet—powerless and broken.
"Wait," his voice sounds like a cold sentence, like an icy wind piercing to the bone. There is not a shadow of doubt or mercy, not a drop of humanity—only harsh authority and cruelty, binding me like invisible chains.
"Bring the little one," he says to someone, his words sounding like the orders of a general whose will is law. He doesn't control people; he controls puppets, and that realization tears me apart from the inside.
A minute later, I hear my daughter's cries and sobs. The sound pierces me like thin needles stabbing straight into my heart. My heart tears from pain and helplessness; I am far away and can't calm her, hold her close, or protect her from all the evil in this world. Every scream is like a knife twisting in my soul, offering no salvation.
"Let me go! I want Mommy and Daddy! Let me go to them!" Her voice shakes with fear, despair, and incomprehension, like a tiny fledgling lost in a huge, merciless world. She can't believe she is being held captive, separated from those who should be near to protect her.
Suddenly Mary goes silent, and on the other end of the line, a muffled sound of her murmuring can be heard, as if someone has forced her mouth shut. My heart seizes with sharp pain, and tears stick in my throat, unable to fall. The sudden silence sounds like a terrible omen.
"Shut your mouth, little brat," he hisses with hatred and malice. Each of his phrases is like a blow to a defenseless child's soul, like a cold knife sinking deeper and deeper.
"Take the phone and talk to your mommy," he orders coldly, as if playing with me and my feelings, enjoying my suffering. His words are empty, yet they carry a terrible power, capable of breaking anyone.
About ten seconds later, I hear my little girl's voice.
"Mommy, Mommy!" she cries into the phone, sobbing, and in that moment her voice becomes for me both the most precious and the most terrifying sound. It holds me on the edge between madness and hope.
Overjoyed and relieved, I start crying myself, unable to hold back my tears. The tears mingle with the tremble in my body, filling me simultaneously with happiness at hearing her and boundless anxiety for her fate.
"My darling, I'm here. How are you?" I ask, trying to make my voice gentle and warm, to somehow support her, to convey the full force of my love and the promise to protect her.
"Bad. Take me to you, please. I'll behave, I promise," her words tremble with tears and fear, carrying hope and pleading pain that could tear one apart. My heart aches with the desire to break free and be with her.
"Hey, give me the phone. I'm not done talking to Mommy," a shout rings out, and I realize someone nearby is trying to silence her, to cut off this one bridge between us.
"Put her back, or my head already hurts," comes his cold command, and the sounds of crying fade until they vanish entirely. I am left in terrible loneliness, with a broken heart and an oppressive sense of hopelessness.