I stand, slowly, careful not to disturb either of them, and the doctor bows slightly as I pass. They all bow now. They can sense the shift. They can feel what she has done to me.
What our child has done.
I step into the hallway, adrenaline and devotion burning through me in equal measure.
I will tear that contract apart. Burn every clause. Erase every condition that ever implied she could leave.
Charlotte is not temporary.
She is my wife. The mother of my child. The heart that resurrected mine.
I take a long breath and look back through the doorway at the only two people who matter.
Charlotte
The room is quiet except for the soft little breaths coming from the bassinet beside me. I lie on my side, one hand resting on the edge, close enough to feel the warmth of her through the blanket. My baby. Our baby. Mine in every way that matters, even though technically, my throat tightens, nothing about my future feels guaranteed anymore.
Vitali left as soon as I held our baby. No kiss to my forehead. No whisper of where he was going. Just absence. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. We had an agreement. We both knew what this was supposed to be.
But hormones are cruel little puppeteers, tugging emotions into the light whether they belong there or not.
I brush my knuckle over the baby’s cheek. Soft as a whisper. Her tiny lips purse, like she’s dreaming of milk, and a rush of fierce, aching love surges through me. It’s overwhelming. A tidal wave I never saw coming.
And suddenly I’m crying.
Not silent tears, those would be manageable. These come from somewhere lower, somewhere deep, pulling my breath in sharp little gasps as I try not to wake her. Because everything is raw. Everything is sharp. The joy and the terror blend together until I can’t tell which is which.
The door clicks open.
I swipe at my face too late.
Sophia steps inside, sunlight trailing after her. She looks like she always does, relaxed, soft, innately kind. Her arms are full: flowers in pale peach and white, a gift bag, something wrapped in a soft muslin cloth.
“Oh Charlotte,” she murmurs immediately, her expression folding with empathy. “Baby blues hitting hard?”
I laugh, but it cracks like ice. “Apparently.”
She sets the gifts on the dresser and comes straight to the bed, slipping onto the chair beside me. I sit up and she reaches for my hand, squeezing gently.
“It’s okay to feel everything all at once,” she says. “After I had my first, I cried because Yury went to take a shower. A shower.” She rolls her eyes fondly. “You would’ve thought he was volunteering for the front line.”
A shaky sound leaves me, a half-laugh, half-sob.
“It’s just… I look at her,” I say, nodding toward the bassinet, “and I can’t imagine ever being without her. I can’t imagine leaving. And the contract…” My voice thins on the last word.
Sophia’s brows lift slightly. “You haven’t talked to Vitali about that yet?”
Shame burns up my neck. “No. I know the terms. I agreed to them. I shouldn’t expect anything else.”
She tilts her head. “You should expect honesty. And so should he.”
The room wobbles for a moment as tears try to spill again. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore? He was so amazing throughout the labour and then…he just up and disappeared. Like none of it ever happened. Like I’m just…done now.”
Sophia sighs softly. “Vitali is many things. Terrifying, stubborn, emotionally constipated—”
A startled laugh escapes me.
“—but he is not apathetic,” she finishes. “If he was, you’d know it. You’d feel the cold of it like a locked door.”
