"Can we talk?" she says now, still holding Nikolai. "About something I've been considering."
"Always."
We settle on the couch, Nikolai between us playing with soft blocks. Sonya is nervous—I can see it in how she arranges the blocks, giving herself time to find words.
"I want to give him a sister," she says finally. "I want us to have another baby."
My heart clenches. "Sonya—"
"I know I can't get pregnant again. I know that's impossible. But adoption—" She meets my eyes. "I want to adopt. Specifically a little girl. Give Nikolai a sister, give us a daughter."
I process this carefully. "You think we are ready?"
"We are. And I want a girl. A little girl from a difficult background. Someone who needs a family the way I needed one when I was alone."
"You've been thinking about this for a while."
"Months. Since the hysterectomy. Since realizing biological children are impossible. But I didn't want to bring it up until Nikolai was stable, until we were through the worst of the NICU aftermath." She pauses. "We have resources, connections, space.We're helping at-risk dancers through the foundation. Why not help one directly? Bring her into our family?"
"A daughter," I say, testing the word. I think about Elena and the daughter I lost, the daughter I never got to raise. "Named Elena?"
"If that feels right. Whatever feels appropriate when we meet her."
The idea settles in my chest—frightening and appealing simultaneously. Another child. A daughter. Building family through intention.
"You're sure?" I ask.
"I'm sure. I want this. I want to give Nikolai a sister. I want to save a little girl. I want our family to grow." She touches my hand. "But only if you want it too. This has to be both of us choosing, and I know it can be difficult to you because—"
"Let's do it. Let's adopt a daughter."
Relief floods her expression. "Really?"
"Really. We have love to give. A home that's too big for just three of us. If there's a little girl out there who needs us, let's find her."
The adoption process begins immediately.
We have advantages most don't—Bratva connections, foundation reputation, financial resources, legal teams. But even with advantages, adoption takes time.
We work with a private agency specializing in difficult placements—children from traumatic backgrounds, requiring special care, often overlooked by traditional adopters seeking healthy infants.
"We're looking for a girl," Sonya tells the case worker at our first meeting. "Age two or younger, from difficult circumstances."
The case worker, Michelle, makes all the questions she needs, checks our file, collects more information about us and our lives, and takes notes. "I'll search our database. May take a few weeks to find the right match."
It takes just two weeks.
January 30th, Michelle calls. "I have a potential match. Nineteen-month-old girl, currently in NYC foster system. Her mother died of an overdose six months ago. Father unknown. The baby's been in the system since birth, finally cleared for adoption after legal complications resolved."
"Her name?" Sonya asks, on speaker phone beside me.
"She doesn’t have one yet. Her mother was alone and didn't speak to anyone, so no one knew about the baby until she was found, nor what name she gave her at birth. Because she was so small, it was expected that she would be adopted quickly, so the parents will be free to name her whatever they wish. She's in temporary foster care in Manhattan."
Sonya and I exchange looks.Elena. We wanted to be able to choose our daughter's name, but we knew realistically that we might not have that opportunity, so hearing that feels like destiny, too much to be a mere coincidence. That little girl is our daughter, our little Elena; we both know it.
"When can we meet her?"
February 3rd, 2:00 PM. Manhattan foster home.
