Ruslan hesitated.
His arms tightened instinctively around the baby.
Not possessive.
Protective.
Reluctant.
After a beat — after forcing himself to accept that this wasn’t a moment he could freeze in time — he slowly relinquished her.
His fingers loosened one by one.
He let her go.
The nurse carried our daughter carefully back toward the station.
Ruslan’s gaze followed every movement.
Every step.
Every breath she took.
Then — as if remembering reality — his eyes lifted to mine.
They were raw.
Pleading.
“Elena...”
His voice dropped, rougher now. “I have to get out of this prison.”
His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking beneath strained skin. “For her. For Yannis.”
The words began to spill faster, urgency cracking through the restraint he usually wore like armor.
“Testify for me at the trial. Challenge the footage. Prove it was manipulated.” His chains shifted as his hands moved, metal clinking softly in the silence. “If you do that, they’ll reduce the sentence.”
He leaned forward as far as the restraints allowed.
“I can come home.”
His eyes locked onto mine — not fierce now, not commanding.
Almost pleading.
“To both of you.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
The monitors seemed louder.
The steady beep of equipment almost mocking the intensity of the moment.
I met his gaze without hesitation.
“No.”
