Page 89 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“My wife and I are no longer in contact.”

“She’s requesting you.”

I stare out into the distance, silence drowning out the mechanical clunking, the sloshing water. The earth stops spinning on its axis, like my life has been narrowed down to this one singular moment. I can either let it pass or reach out and grab the opportunity before it floats away.

I’ll kill myself if I miss the birth of my twins. All I need is to see their faces, know they exist, and I can return here, knowing I did something right.

I drop my phone, the knife in my pocket, and run, charging through the shipping containers, jumping the fence, wasting no time as I unlock my car and jump straight in.

I send the pedal to the floor, driving full speed ahead straight to the hospital, the same building I rushed to when I heard that Fia survived the coma.

I swerve lanes, run multiple red lights. Glancing at the time on the dashboard, I pray I can get there in time. The morning rush hour always throws a spanner in the works. The intersections are gridlocked up ahead, horns blaring through the city.

I tap my finger on the steering wheel, wishing I could perform a miracle right now, send this vehicle into the sky, flying straight to the hospital. But my miracle is Fia and the twins. You’re only blessed with one in life.

“Fuck this,” I huff, popping open the car door, leaving the vehicle in the middle of the road. I unbutton my suit jacket, tossing it into the car to give myself an aerodynamic advantage, and put my best foot forward.

Running in the middle of the road wins me a lot of attention. The sidewalk is crammed, full of commuters. My best bet is the road, so I swerve around cars, taking a left at the intersection. The traffic there is beginning to move.

My car will be destroyed as stressed drivers tackle their way around an alpine white, series one obstacle in the middle of the road, otherwise known as my favorite BMW sports car.

But fuck the car, and fuck the iPhone paparazzi who have suddenly spawned out of nowhere, videoing me as I cause havoc down Seattle’s busiest road.

I continue charging, ignoring all distractions.

My legs seize up when I see the hospital. I slow down into a walk, my chest tensing. This is the only moment of truth I care about. The only thing that matters.

I stumble into the reception area, disappearing inside of my own head as the worker points me in the direction of the correct floor. I take the elevator, share it with an old couple who look at me funny, and release a heavy breath when the doors slide open onto the ward.

Nurses whisk past me, one showing me to the room.

The door slowly opens and there she is, my spitfire, holding our two children at her breast.

Tears form in her eyes as soon as she sees me. “I knew you would come.”

My chest tenses as I step toward the bed, their tiny faces making me feel foreign things.

“I’ll give you two sometime alone,” says the nurse, shutting the door on the way out.

“We have a girl and a boy,” says Fia, looking up at me wide-eyed. The exhaustion is visible on her face. Dark circles loom under her eyes, her skin pale after delivering our two children.

“Here,” says Fia with all the confidence in the world. “Hold one of them. The nurse suggests removing your shirt so they can bond with skin-to-skin.”

I hesitate, taking a step back. “Fia,” I sigh. “You know that’s not a good?—”

“For you maybe, but these children deserve to know their father. To have them present in their lives,” she says. “I carried these rascals for nine months. The least you can do is play a part, being a father to them and a husband to me.” The pleading look in her eye breaks me. “I tried giving life a shot without you, Emil, but it sucked. You are my life. You make me feel like I’m living.” She keeps watching me. “Look me in the eye and tell me you enjoyed the distance.”

“I hated it.”

A smirk lifts her tired face. “See?” She lifts one of the babies swaddled in cloth, giving me no other option but to take the infant from her hands.

I hold the child in my arms, smoothing my palm over their tiny head.

“Meet your daughter.”

Her eyes open softly, registering me. Everything I thought I knew about the world was a lie. An infant is the only true thing to exist in the world, representing a clean state, a chance to start over.

How the fuck am I meant to walk out of this hospital, returning to how things were, after meeting my children? The killing can be justified, but choosing to walk away from people who need me cannot be.