Petyr’s hand finds mine again, warm and steady. For now, that’s all we need.
Then he glances at me. “What do you want to name her?”
I look down at the tiny bundle in my arms. I’ve said a hundred names in my head over the past few months, but now that she’s here, none of them feel right.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I can’t decide.”
“What were you going to call her? Back in Florida. Before I found you.”
My throat tightens. I hesitate. We’re finally in a good place, and I don’t want to drag us back with ugly memories.
But then I turn, and he’s looking at me with that calm, patient focus that always cuts right through me.
I can’t lie to him. Not about this.
“Lilia,” I confess. “After your mother.”
His brow furrows, like he isn’t sure he heard me right. “My mother?”
I nod. “So that she’d always have a piece of you with her. Even if… even if you weren’t there.” My voice catches. “It just felt right.”
For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. Then he swallows hard, and when he finally speaks, his voice is husky with emotion. “I never told you my mother’s name.”
“You didn’t have to.” I offer a small smile. “I have my ways of finding things out. When they matter.”
For once, I’m not worried that he’s mad at me. I know the overwhelmed look on his face. He isn’t used to this. Feeling so much.
I give him space. Then, a minute later, his eyes meet mine again. “Lilia.” He tries it out softly, like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. “It’s perfect.”
His eyes are damp, though he tries to hide it. He reaches out and brushes a finger along our daughter’s cheek.
“Lilia,” he whispers again. “Welcome home.”
And just like that, the name feels right. Completely, absolutely right.
We stay curled up close for a while longer. I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m blind to everything that isn’t this. Me, Petyr, and our daughter snuggled between us.
But eventually, Petyr stands and leans down to kiss my forehead. “I need to make a call,” he murmurs. “I won’t be long.”
I nod, even though I don’t want him to go. This bubble we’re in feels too fragile, too precious. I don’t want it to pop yet.
But the world doesn’t stop just because your daughter takes her first breath. If it did, it would be a kinder place. Much kinder than the world that birthed us.
Petyr, me—we haven’t known kindness the way other people have. To us, it was always scarce. A myth, a fairytale.
But when I look at our daughter Lilia, I want her to exist in a better world. I intend to make it better with my own two hands just for her.
And I know Petyr feels the same.
The moment the door closes behind him, though, the quiet feels heavier. I can’t help wishing him back by my side.
Lilia shifts in my arms, soft and warm. Her tiny mouth parts in sleep. God, she’s so freakingcute.
“Knock-knock?”
I lift my gaze and meet Luka’s sheepish eyes. “Who’s there?” I grin.
“Someone who was wondering if you needed anything.”
