December 23rd
Chapter 23 — What Remains
Kateryna met Michael outside the shelter just after ten. The staff didn’t allow men inside — a rule she understood now more than ever — so they walked without speaking for a while, following the edge of a quiet park until they reached a small coffee shop that had just opened its shutters.
It was drizzling. A fine mist that clung to hair and lashes and made the morning feel heavier than it was.
Michael ordered two black coffees and took the table in the corner, away from the window. He looked tired, but brighter somehow. As though revealing the truth had peeled away the last layer of deceit, and now he could finally breathe in his own skin.
“It’s done,” he said.
Kateryna sipped her coffee. It tasted bitter, but she didn’t mind. “Is it, though?”
“As close as it ever gets,” he said. “The Newsnight piece has over two million views already. Front pages across Europe. There are calls for a full inquiry. Half of Holyrood’s scrambling to distance themselves. It’s the biggest story I’ve ever filed — maybe the biggest Scotland’s seen in a decade.”
“And Marta?” she asked quietly.
His eyes softened. “Burial will be handled by the authorities unless her family are found. I’ll make sure her name isn’t lost in a report.”
Kateryna nodded, staring into her cup.
Michael leaned forward. “You know, it’s sparked something. Real debate. About prostitution. Trafficking. How it’s sold to the public as a choice, a career even, when for most women it’s just survival. Or coercion.”
“You don’t believe in legalisation?” she asked.
“I used to think it was the lesser evil. Now?” He shook his head. “Now I see it clearly. All legalisation does is legitimise demand. Make it easier for men to buy women, without shame. But the power imbalance stays the same. The harm doesn’t disappear.”
Kateryna looked up at him.
He continued, “I think it should be illegal to buy sex. Decriminalise those selling it. Target the demand. Not the desperation.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You sound like someone who actually understands now.”
“I do,” he said.
They sat in silence for a time, then Michael slid a small envelope across the table.
“What’s this?”
“A flight. Home,” he said. “Kyiv. You’re free to leave. The police returned your passport yesterday.”
Kateryna blinked. Slowly, she reached for the envelope and opened it. A single boarding pass. Tomorrow.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“You already said it,” he replied. “Every night you stayed in that place. Every whisper, every risk — that was your voice. Now the world’s heard it.”
She nodded, tucking the ticket away.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No,” she said truthfully. “But I will be.”
He smiled. It was the first real one she’d seen from him.
As they left the café, Kateryna turned her face to the light rain. The cold touched her skin like a reminder — that she was alive. That she was leaving.
Not everyone had made it. But she had. And now, finally, so could the truth.
