There are token protests, but I can see the exhaustion on their young faces. One by one, they file out—Julian promising to bring me books, Lila offering to help with my hair “because hospital beds are murder on curls,” Lev and Nikolai extracting promises that I’ll be at their next soccer match.
Alya is the last to leave, her small face serious as she leans close to whisper in my ear. “I’m really happy about the baby, Mommy. I always wanted to be a big sister.”
My heart melts completely as she plants a kiss on my cheek before scampering after her brothers. Elena lingers at the door, giving me a look that clearly says we’ll be having a very detailed conversation later.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she says, her familiar snark barely concealing genuine emotion. “And I’m even more glad you’ve finally locked this down.” She gestures between Konstantin and me. “The sexual tension was becoming unbearable.”
“Elena!”
She grins, unrepentant. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking. I’ll see you tomorrow. And you —” she points at Konstantin, “— be good to her, or I’ll write about how you two met. And believe me, it’ll be juicy.”
Konstantin’s brow lifts. “You think anyone would believe you?”
“I’ll make them,” she says cheerfully, winking before disappearing down the hallway.
I laugh, shaking my head. “She’s impossible.”
“She’s loyal,” Konstantin corrects, resuming his place beside me. “To you.”
The room grows quiet, the energy shifting now that we’re alone again. Konstantin’s thumb traces circles on my wrist, his eyes never leaving my face.
“You look so beautiful,” he says softly, the unexpected compliment making heat rise to my cheeks. His fingers brush my hair back from my face, eyes tracing over my features as if memorizing them.
A knock at the door interrupts whatever he was about to say next. Before Konstantin can respond, the door opens, and Yelena walks in, elegant as always in a navy silk dress, her posture perfect despite the events of the past days.
“Konstantin,” she says, her voice carrying its usual authority. “A moment with Bella, please.”
He stiffens beside me, his expression shuttering closed. “Mother—”
“It’s alright,” I intercept, squeezing his hand. “Just a moment.”
His eyes search mine, and I see the question there—are you sure?I nod, and after a brief hesitation, he rises, pressing a kiss to my forehead before leaving us alone.
Yelena approaches the bed, her movements measured and precise as always. For a moment, she simply stands there,studying me with those penetrating eyes that have passed so directly to her son.
“I owe you an apology,” she finally says, the words clearly not coming easily to her. “And my gratitude.”
I blink, surprised by both the admission and the directness.
“What you did for Nikolai,” she continues, “stepping between him and danger without hesitation… it is what a mother does.” A small pause. “What I would have done.”
The admission costs her, I can tell. Yelena Belova does not often acknowledge others’ strength.
“And the ultimatum I gave you,” she adds, “was wrong. I thought I was protecting this family—protecting my son from complications at a critical time. I see now that I was mistaken.”
I study her face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but find none. Instead, I see something I never expected from this formidable woman—respect.
“Thank you,” I say simply, knowing that between us, fewer words are better.
She nods once, then, surprisingly, reaches out to briefly touch my hand.
“My son loves you,” she says, the words straightforward, not a question. “It makes him vulnerable. But perhaps… perhaps that is not such a terrible thing.”
The closest thing to a blessing I’m likely to get from her. I accept it with a nod.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” she says, already turning toward the door. But she pauses, and for the first time since I’ve known her, Yelena Belova smiles—a small thing, but genuine. “Welcome to the family, Isabella. Truly.”
Epilogue
