Page 22 of Sinful Bride

DAPHNE

I wake up in a cold sweat.

I’m praying these nightmares will be short-lived. That the images of my parents stuffing my child into a duffel bag won’t swirl in my mind forever.

But when I reach for Taty and find an empty bassinet, the nightmare becomes all too real.

“Taty? Taty?” I sit upright too fast, but I don’t care about the dizziness. They’re not taking my baby from me again. “Tatyanna?”

“Over here.”

My pounding heart instantly slows at the sound of Pasha’s calm voice. He’s pacing the room near a low-lit lamp, which makes me feel like an idiot for not noticing right away.

Tucked in the crook of his arm is our sweet Taty, sleepily suckling away at the bottle Pasha’s holding to her mouth. It’s an endearing sight. But it’s also my job.

“You should’ve woken me.”

And spared me the nightmares.

“You needed sleep. I can feed her.”

I shouldn’t stop him from being an attentive father. But I need to give her the nutrients and bonding that comes with breastfeeding, so I hold my hands out for her. “I have to try.”

He passes her over, though the arched eyebrow asks the question that he has thus far declined to ask: Is it still not working?

I pretend I don’t see it or notice what he’s silently asking as I take her and cradle her to me. But the answer is the same as it has been: No, it’s not working.

The nurse said it’s normal to struggle at first. I just have to keep trying.

The one thing I can’t afford to do is panic.

I pull my nightgown aside to bare a heavy breast. I feel the milk in here, in my body, straining beneath my skin. But when I circle her mouth with my nipple and feel her successfully latch, I also feel a throbbing pain surge through me.

“You okay?” Pasha settles onto the bed next to me, his gaze transfixed on the feeding.

Well, the attempted feeding.

“It hurts. A lot. But I have to keep trying because the nurse said it’s the best thing to do. Even if it’s a blocked duct or infection, getting her to feed from me will eventually ease the pain.”

He scrunches his face. “That can’t be right.”

“It is. Welcome to parenthood. It’s strange out here.”

What’s also strange is how normal this feels. Pasha reclining on the bed next to me, watching our baby girl suckle at my breast. No overtures, nothing sensual or sexual about it.

Just us, being a family.

Or so I assume. It’s not like I’d know what a real family is supposed to be like.

We sit there in silence until Taty falls asleep. I’m careful when I ease her away from my breast, and Pasha takes her into his arms to rock her, burp her, and lay her in the bassinet. He doesn’t look at me once the whole time he’s taking care of her, but I can tell he’s deep in thought.

It’s only when he finishes tucking her in that he sits back down on the bed with a sigh. His back is to me. I can sense the tension rolling off him in waves.

“What do you want to do about your parents?”

I’m legitimately surprised he’s asking me. After everything they’ve done to him, to me, and now, to our daughter, I expected him to go full force hurricane of fury on them.

Hell, I thought he already did.

---