His words weren’t empty praise.
They carried respect.
Recognition.
Those visits grounded me.
Reminded me that despite chaos, I still had stability.
By discharge day —
I felt stronger than expected.
My body had healed faster than I anticipated.
There was softness around my abdomen — a natural postpartum change.
A reminder that my body had created life.
But I didn’t feel broken.
I felt powerful.
Energetic.
Reborn in a strange way.
If someone looked at me without context, they might never guess I had just delivered a baby days ago.
Except for the lingering tenderness.
And the hospital bracelet still strapped around my wrist.
Petros carried my small bag as we walked through the hospital corridors.
Yannis walked beside me.
I held my daughter close to my chest — protective instinct automatic.
Her warmth shielded me from intrusive thoughts.
When we stepped into Ruslan’s mansion, sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows of the grand foyer.
Golden light spilled across polished marble floors.
It should have felt peaceful.
Instead —
My steps slowed.
My stomach dropped.
Three figures occupied the living room.
Arranged deliberately.
Like a strategic confrontation waiting to happen.
