Aleksander Petrov

2611 Larkin Street

San Francisco, CA 94133

Alek,

I miss you. It took all of my strength to not cry when I had to get on that plane. Of course, I cried for hours on the first plane, for the whole flight probably. The only thing worse than crying by myself while surrounded by strangers, is remembering your arms around me and your hands wiping my tears. Don't blame the Valentina or the other warriors; they did all they could to help. I am safe now. The Order will never find me. To get here, I took two flights, two bus rides, and another plane. At each stop, I used a different alias. Five different wigs, five different outfits of baggy clothing that hide my 'significant physical attributes.' The final identity is easy to remember, it's almost like it could be my name.

I'm Clover now.

Clover Diane Hunt. Nineteen. Red hair. Green eyes. 5'4".

At least, that's what my driver's license says, not that I have a car or anything. I don't really need one.

I'm in a new place, I have a new identity, and I have a new life. As much as I want to hate my life, I can't. The anger is there, the pain is there, even the passion is there. No matter what, I can promise you, I will never give up. That fluttering feeling in my stomach, that appears whenever I think of you, is a constant reminder of the path our lives have taken. You are home in San Fran, while I'm here in this godforsaken town.

People always ask about the baby, at least those who know for sure that I'm pregnant. A few people, little kids, asked me if I was fat. It was pretty funny, especially when their mothers got mad at them and made them apologize. I go to maternity classes at the YMCA every week. The other mothers there are nice, but they are in their mid-twenties, so I can't really connect.

The people here, including the friends I have made, think I'm a daydreamer. Part of it is because I rarely respond to my name. "Clo'" sounds close enough to "Chloe" that it can get my attention, but I still have trouble remembering that "Clover" is me. But they don't know that. They just think I am in my own little world, and I don't hear them saying my name. And, apparently I get all "misty-eyed" whenever I think about you and James.

I'm always thinking about you. I can't look at myself in the mirror without studying the baby bump I am rapidly sprouting. Will his hair be honey brown, like yours? Or corn-husk yellow, like mine? Will you teach him to call me "Mum," will he steal all your best British curse words? I sing to him all the time. Would you sing to him? I know you're s self-conscious of your singing voice; I've only heard you sing when you're drunk. Whenever our little bad-boy kicks, I can almost hear your voice. I remember your cocky smirk when you chuckle and say that James "might ditch his Daddy and go play football," instead of basketball. At this point, I don't care what sports he wants to play. He can play World of Warcraft with Paul for all I care. I just want this to be over with. I want us to be a family again.

I wear my engagement ring, and wedding ring, every day. I had to tell them that you were in the army, deployed in Iraq for the next six months. You are Alexander Hunt, from Ann Arbor, Michigan. My new birth certificate says that I was born there. Apparently, I moved to North Carolina to live with my cousins. Or something like that.

The Mai here are great. They don't know my real name, or who I really am. They see me. Not 'the Uniter's unborn child' in my womb. Not the reason why the Order is resurfacing after all these years. They think I am an orphan; my parents were killed during a raid on the Mai at the University of Michigan. They told me that keeping a journal will help to keep my story straight. I don't know if that's true, but writing to you make me feel better.

I love you with all of my heart, soul, and mind.

Yours, always,

Chloe.

Clover Hunt

407 S Van Buren Rd. apt 5C

Eden, NC 27288