ANYA
The hospital roomis dim and warm, the kind of quiet that only happens after twenty-three hours of screaming and pushing and swearing at the top of my lungs. The monitors beep soft in the background, almost soothing now that the hard part's over. Nikolai's asleep on my chest, six pounds even, tiny fist curled under his chin, dark hair sticking up in soft little spikes exactly like Roman's when he rolls out of bed. He has my nose, that stubborn Dragunov chin, and these big serious eyes that already look like they've seen too much even though he's only been here for twelve hours. Every time he makes a small snuffling sound or twitches in his sleep, my heart does this stupid squeeze that makes my throat tight. I keep tracing one finger down his back, feeling every delicate ridge of his spine, thinking how something so small could already own every single piece of me.
Roman's sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on my knee, the other splayed protectively across Nikolai's back like he's still scared the baby might disappear if he stops touching him. He hasn't slept more than twenty minutes since my water broke yesterday. His eyes are bloodshot, stubble dark on hisjaw, hair a mess from running his hands through it, but every time Nikolai yawns or grunts Roman's face lights up like he just won something huge. He leans in now, kisses my temple slow.
"You're doing so good, baby," he whispers, voice rough from no sleep. "Look at him. He's perfect."
I smile, exhausted but so full it hurts. "He's ours."
He brushes his thumb over Nikolai's tiny hand. "Yeah. Ours."
There's a soft knock. The door opens and Irina slips in first, carrying two fresh coffees in paper cups. She's been here the whole pregnancy, showing up at the house with soup when the morning sickness hit so hard I couldn't get off the couch, rubbing my back through the nights I couldn't sleep because my hips ached, holding my hand during every ultrasound and whispering "You've got this, sweetheart" when the fear crept in. She became "Mama" the day I told her I was pregnant and she hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe, tears in her eyes, saying "We're doing this together."
She sets the coffees on the side table, leans over me, and kisses my forehead like she's done a hundred times these past nine months. "How's my girl?"
"Tired. Happy. Sore as hell." I laugh quiet so I don't wake Nikolai. "Mama."
Her eyes go liquid, the way they always do when I call her that. She brushes a strand of sweaty hair off my face, voice soft. "You did so good, baby. Look at him. He's perfect."
She strokes Nikolai's cheek with one gentle finger, whispering in that special tone she saves just for him. "Hey, little man. Baba'shere. You gonna let your mama sleep tonight or are you gonna be like your daddy and keep us all up?"
Nikolai makes a tiny snuffling sound and nestles closer. Irina's smile is so soft it makes my chest ache.
Another soft knock.
Viktor steps in alone. No bodyguards, no dark suits, just him in a plain black coat, holding a small blue teddy bear that looks comically small in his huge hands. He stops two feet inside the door, eyes sweeping the room, me in the bed, Roman beside me, the baby on my chest, then landing on Irina. He pauses there a second longer than necessary, like he's really seeing her for the first time.
"Malyshka," he says, voice low and rough.
"Papa." I shift a little, careful not to jostle Nikolai. "Come meet your grandson."
Viktor walks over slow, boots quiet on the tile, like the floor might crack under him. Roman stands up, puts himself half in front of the bed for half a second before stepping aside. Viktor notices. Doesn't comment.
He leans down, studies Nikolai like he's memorizing every feature for a report. "He has your eyes," he says finally, voice thick. "And that chin. Dragunov through and through."
"And Roman's hair," I add, smiling tired. "Already stubborn."
Viktor nods once. Hands the teddy bear to Roman without looking at him. "For the boy."
Roman takes it, sets it gently on the side table next to the flowers Irina brought earlier. "Thanks."
Irina's still standing close, arms crossed loose over her chest, watching Viktor with that sharp, quiet look she gets when she's sizing someone up. Viktor turns to her fully now, really looks.
"You're the mother," he says.
"Irina Kovacs." She doesn't offer her hand. Just meets his eyes straight on. "And you're the grandfather."
"Viktor Dragunov." His voice drops a notch, almost thoughtful. "I've heard a lot about you."
Irina's mouth curves, small but real. "I've heard about you too. You raised one hell of a daughter."
Viktor glances at me, then back to her. "She raised herself half the time. But yes. She's strong."
Irina tilts her head. "Takes after her mother, I'm guessing."
Viktor's eyes flick over Irina again, slower this time, like he's noticing the way she stands, the way she looks at the baby. "Perhaps."
The room goes quiet except for Nikolai's soft breathing. I rub his back in slow circles, feeling that warm, secret possibility we've been carrying for months. Roman's hand tightens on my thigh. I cover it with mine, squeezing back.
