My breath catches.
The baby.
They’ve got a fetal monitor strapped across her stomach—small speaker, steady rhythm. The sound is so quick it almost doesn’t seem human. A heartbeat fighting to stay alive.
“Stay with me,malyshka.” I lean closer, forehead nearly touching hers. “Both of you. Stay.”
Nothing answers. Just the slow beep of her heart. The fragile rush of the other.
My grip tightens around her hand. She’s ice. I should call Dr. Vera, get someone in here, but I can’t move. Can’t let go.
The stitches in my chest are tearing again; warm blood seeps down my side.
My vision swims.
None of it matters.
Because she’s here. Still breathing. Still fighting.And I’m not letting go until she opens her eyes.
Minutes pass. Or hours. I don’t know.
Time doesn’t exist in this room. Just the beeping. The breathing. The waiting.
Then—
Her fingers twitch in mine.
I go still. Hold my breath.
Another twitch. Stronger this time.
“Mary.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Come back.”
Her eyelids flutter.
My pulse kicks. “That’s it. Come back to me.”
Slowly—too fucking slowly—her eyes open.
Unfocused. Glassy. That hazel I’ve memorized in every shade of light, now dull and confused.
But open.
She blinks once. Twice. Her gaze drifts past me, around the room, then back.
When her eyes finally land on mine, something in my chest cracks.
Not breaks. Cracks. Like ice under pressure.
Because she’s looking at me like she doesn’t know where she is. Like she’s still trapped somewhere I can’t reach.
“Anton?” Her voice is barely there. Hoarse. Broken.
“I’m here.”
Her brow furrows. She tries to sit up.
I press her shoulder back down. Not rough. Firm. “Don’t move.”
