"Hah,” I snort. “That was stupidity."
"That was fate."
I laugh despite myself. "You're very certain about that."
"I'm certain about us. About this." His hand presses firmer against my belly. "About our family."
Our family. The words still feel surreal. But good. Right.
"Lily?" His voice has taken on that soft quality that is so rare, from him, that it stops my thoughts in their tracks.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to take care of you. Both of you. For the rest of our lives. You know that, right?"
"I know." I smile at the thought.
"And you're okay with that?"
I think about the family that's welcomed me with open arms. The home we've built together. The child growing inside me.
The man who saw me drowning and pulled me to shore, then taught me how to breathe again.
"I'm more than okay with it," I say. "I'm grateful for it."
He kisses me again, deeper this time. A promise and a claim and a declaration all at once.
Three months later
The contractions start at three in the morning.
Zakhar is immediately awake, already reaching for his phone to call the doctor before I can tell him it's still early labor.
"We have time," I say, breathing through the pain.
"We're going to the hospital. Now."
"Zakhar—"
"Now, Lily."
There's no arguing with him when he uses that tone. Within twenty minutes, we're in the car, Paul driving while Zakhar holds my hand so tight I'm losing circulation.
"You're hurting me," I say gently.
He immediately loosens his grip. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Should we—"
"Breathe. I'm fine. He's fine. This is normal."
"Nothing about this is normal."
Despite the pain, I laugh. "You literally handle violence for a living. Is this truly scarier?"
"Yes. Because I can't control it. Can't—"
Another contraction hits, cutting off his spiral. I squeeze his hand through it, breathing like they taught us in the classes he insisted we take.
The hospital is ready when we arrive. A private room, the best doctors money can buy, security stationed outside because of course Zakhar arranged that.
