Page 3 of Forced Arrangement

“Look,” she said, holding up one of the passports for me to see. “This is you now, Sarah.”

I took the passport from her, staring at the picture inside. It was me, but it wasn’t me. The name beside the photo read “Sarah Lacey” and for a moment, I felt like I was looking at a stranger.

“This is who you are now,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You need to remember that, no matter what happens.”

I nodded, clutching the passport tightly in my hands. “I will, Mama. I’ll remember.”

She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes that made my chest ache. “You’re such a good girl, Sophia. I’m so proud of you.”

“Sarah,” I corrected her, trying to embrace my new identity. “I’m Sarah now.”

Her smile widened and she brushed a kiss against my forehead. “Yes, Sarah. My brave, beautiful Sarah.”

We sat there in silence for a while, the noise of the bustling train station fading into the background as I tried to process everything that had happened.

My world had shifted on its axis and nothing felt real anymore. I was no longer Sophia Agostini, the daughter of a powerful man in New York. I was Sarah Lacey, a girl on the run with her mother, hiding from a past I didn’t fully understand.

The train arrived with a loud, screeching halt and my mother stood up, taking my hand as we walked towards it. I glanced back over my shoulder one last time, at the life we were leaving behind, and felt a pang of loss in my chest.

I didn’t know if I would ever see France again, or if I would ever understand why we had to leave.

But I knew one thing for certain—I had to be strong, for my mother’s sake. She was all I had now, and I couldn’t let her down.

We boarded the next train and found our seats quickly. As the train pulled away from the station, I pressed my face against the window, watching the city blur into the distance. My mother sat beside me, her hand resting on mine, her grip firm and steady.

“Remember, Sarah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the train. “This is just a game. We’re going to win it, you and me.”

I turned to look at her, searching her eyes for reassurance. “What happens when the game is over?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, her expression softening. “When it’s over, we’ll be safe. We’ll have a new life, a better life.”

I nodded, trying to believe her. But deep down, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

As the train carried us further away from Paris, from everything I had ever known, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine our new life in England. I pictured the red buses, the tall buildings, the parks and the people with accents that were different from ours. I imagined myself as Sarah Lacey, a girl with no past, only a future.

***

The apartment was quiet that night, save for the occasional hum of the city filtering through the window. I had just drifted into sleep when a loud, piercing scream jolted me awake.

My heart pounded in my chest as I scrambled out of bed, my small hands clutching my stuffed rabbit as I stumbled toward my mother’s room.

The door was ajar, and I peered inside to see her thrashing about in bed, her face contorted with terror. “He’s coming! He’s coming!” she cried, her voice high and frantic. The words made no sense to me, but the fear in her tone was palpable.

“Mama!” I called, stepping into the room. I tried to shake her awake, my tiny hands barely making an impact. “Mama, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open, and she looked at me with a mix of confusion and fear. She sat up abruptly, her breathing ragged. “Sophia? Sarah?” she stammered, her gaze darting around as if she was searching for something unseen.

“It’s all right, Mama,” I said, my voice trembling. I climbed onto the bed and hugged her tightly. “It was just a dream. It was just a bad dream.”

She took a deep breath, slowly coming back to the present. Her shaking hands brushed away the tears that had streaked her face. “I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it myself. “You’re safe now.”

She nodded and held me close, her trembling subsiding as she calmed down. “Thank you, Sarah,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Over the next few weeks, the nightmares became a recurring presence in our lives.

Each night, my mother would wake in terror and I would be there beside her, offering comfort and a semblance of safety. Inever quite understood what haunted her, but I could see the toll it took on her. Her once-bright eyes were often shadowed with worry and the corners of her mouth were set in a permanent frown.

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