“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice pulls me from my spiral. “Look at me.”
I lift my head, and she’s watching me with those blue eyes that see too much.
That see past the pakhan, past the monster, straight to the man underneath who’s falling apart.
“I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m so scared of losing our baby.”
The admission breaks something in me. I move to the edge of her bed, taking her face in my hands. “I know. I am too.”
“What if something happens? What if I can’t carry to term? What if?—”
“Stop.” I press my thumb gently against her lips. “We’re not going to think like that. You heard the doctor. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. You’re both fighters. You’re going to get through this.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can’t lose you.” The words come out raw, stripped of any pretense. “Either of you. I’ve done terrible things in my life, Sophia. I’ve hurt people, destroyed families, built an empire on blood and fear. But you and our baby, you’re my chance at something good. Something pure. I can’t lose that. I won’t.”
She reaches up and touches my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “Then stay with me. Don’t leave me alone in this.”
“Never.” I lean down and kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A nurse comes in to move Sophia to a private room upstairs.
There’s not enough room in the elevator and, instead of waiting for another one, I take the stairs, my legs eating up the distance.
By the time I reach her floor, they’re already settling her into bed, hooking up monitors that will track both her vitals and the baby’s heartbeat.
The steady beep of the fetal monitor fills the room, and I find myself synchronizing my breathing to it.
As long as that sound continues, as long as that little heart keeps beating, there’s hope.
I pull a chair close to Sophia’s bed and take her hand.
She’s exhausted, her eyes already drifting closed.
The medication they gave her is taking effect, and I’m grateful she’ll get some rest.
“Mikhail?” she murmurs, half asleep.
“I’m here.”
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If something happens, if they have to choose…” She swallows hard. “Save the baby.”
My blood turns to ice. “Sophia, don’t?—”
“Promise me.” Her eyes open, and the determination in them steals my breath. “Our baby deserves a chance at life. Promise me you’ll make sure they gets it.”
I want to argue, want to tell her that I can’t make that choice, that I won’t choose between them.
But looking at her face, seeing the fierce love already burning there for our unborn child, I know I can’t refuse her.
“I promise,” I whisper, even though the words taste like ash.
She smiles, satisfied, and her eyes drift closed again. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep.
