The Museum of Abandoned Secrets

again, with my hard-earned coin—after he burned the archives! And the thing is—he’s still convinced he did the right thing, and you can’t get through to him!”
    “Leave him alone, Aidy, others have gotten through already—left plenty of holes in him. He’s a colander.”
    “Sure, someone tells you a sob story about his difficult childhood, and you’re ready to feel sorry for him!”
    “Someone has to do that, too, don’t you think?”
    “Yeah, yeah. Alright, don’t take it the wrong way.”
    “I’m not. All I’m saying is he didn’t have any other choice. None of them did—those who were raised on lies, with the natural course of life violated. Arbitrarily warped. Can you imagine what a flimsy existence he must lead—without roots, up in the air? A sort of a show that he plays for himself over and over and over. And there’s no way to keep it going other than to guard, sledgehammer in hand, against the natural order of things reassertingitself, because if you miss a blink—it’ll break through, like mud through that dam.... ”
    “Yeah.”
    “His dam will break too, one day...and sweep away the whole house of cards he’s worked so hard to build around his child. It’s leaking already—first his mother-in-law, then it’ll be something else: the further his child ventures into the world, the more risks there are. That’s why he’s so afraid.”
    “So much wisdom. So much understanding. Where can I get myself some of that?”
    “Why? You disagree?”
    “You women just kill me...just sit there, philosophizing, like it’s all water off a duck’s back!”
    “It’s all because you covered me. Shielded me bravely with your own body, you could say. Took the brunt of the negative-energy assault. Or, maybe more appropriately, of the informational assault?”
    “You just keep kissing up to me...”
    “I’m not kissing up; I’m telling you like it is. You are my hero. My knight in shining armor. My Chip and Dale. My Ninja Turtle.”
    “Shut up. You’re mean.”
    “But wise—you said so yourself.”
    “You know I’ve got a whale of a headache...from back there, on the water.”
    “You poor thing. Take an Advil.”
    “Nah, a cup of hot tea—and off to bed. Lord. Some freaking day we had...I have to say, you seem to be just generally super calm recently. Sort of distanced...”
    “I must be slowly developing the ability not to give a damn. What else can I do?”
    “No, I’m serious. I noticed it back when you came home from your meeting with Vadym, and I was telling you about Yulichka. Things don’t seem to get to you the way they used to; they don’t affect you as much.... ”
    “Is this a bad thing? That they don’t?”
    “Hey. Kiddo. What if you are pregnant?”
    “Oy!”
    “What’s to oy about? What would be so terrible about that?”
    “My dictaphone!”
    “What about it?”
    “I just saw this...apparently, I left it on—after I erased the stuff.... Or did I not lock it, and it came on accidentally in my purse?”
    “You mean, it was recording the whole way home?”
    “That’s what I’m telling you, look, it’s on! It’s still rolling...”
    “No shi—”
    CLICK.
    ***
    Daryna is sitting on the edge of the bathtub holding the test stick in her fingers—carefully, like a rare insect, a wingless dragonfly with a delicate blue fuselage. She sits and looks, unable to take her eyes off of it: to her, the strip seems to be alive. About to move. Or do something else to reveal itself, something completely unpredictable. Especially since, as the instructions claim, after ten minutes, the reading can disappear. Still, what she is seeing is beyond doubt.
    It is real. It exists.
    Two lines. Two blood-red vertical lines, exactly in the middle. Like a pair of tiny, very straight capillaries that have swelled up and begun to pulsate, instantaneously, and of their own volition.
    Over 99% accuracy.
    This has happened. And it cannot be undone. She can close your eyes, flush away the test, not tell anyone, and pretend for a while (How long?) that this did not happen; it was just an illusion, a mirage, a sudden instance of astigmatism, double vision. No one else has seen this; no one could testify that there were
two
lines.
    But two is how many there are.
    And this is indisputable. Regardless of whether anyone else has seen it. It just—is.
    This cannot be replayed. She cannot delete it from her computer, she cannot set the clock back to the “time before,” she