Page 37 of Pregnant By the Bratva

Sarah lies back on the bed, exhausted but glowing in a way I’ve never seen before. She’s watching me with tired eyes, a small, contented smile playing on her lips as she takes in the sight of me holding our child. Her hair is damp, sticking to her forehead, but she’s never looked more beautiful.

I glance down at the tiny bundle in my arms. The baby’s eyes are closed, her little face scrunched up as she sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the world around her. Her skin is soft, and her tiny fingers curl around my thumb, gripping it with surprising strength.

“She’s perfect,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s a strange feeling, this mix of awe and protectiveness. I never thought I’d care this much, never imagined I’d feel this way about anyone—especially not a child. Yet here she is, my daughter, and the depth of what I feel for her is overwhelming.

Sarah shifts slightly on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at the baby. “She is,” she agrees, her voice soft and full of wonder. “She has your eyes.”

I glance at the baby again, noting the dark lashes resting against her cheeks, green of her irises when she briefly opens them. “Your hair,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She’s a good mix of both of us.”

Sarah chuckles, the sound light and airy despite her exhaustion. “I think she’s got your stubbornness too. She didn’t want to come out without a fight.”

I let out a low laugh, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. “She’ll need that,” I say, my tone more serious now. “In this world, she’ll need to be strong.”

Sarah’s smile fades slightly, a shadow passing over her expression as she reaches out to touch our daughter’s cheek. “She will be,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “We’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, we’re both silent, just watching the baby in my arms, absorbing the reality of what’s just happened. Then I feel a tug in my chest, something deep and unfamiliar—a connection to this woman, this mother of my child, that goes beyond anything I’ve felt before.

I look at Sarah, really look at her, and realize that she’s become more important to me than I ever intended. She’s not just the mother of my child, not just my wife. She’s someone I care about, someone who matters in a way I can’t fully explain.

“Sarah,” I start, my voice uncharacteristically hesitant. I don’t even know what I want to say, what I’m trying to express. There’s a question that’s been gnawing at me for months, one I’ve tried to ignore but can’t seem to shake.

Why do I care so much?

She turns her head slightly, meeting my gaze, her tired eyes searching mine as if she can sense the turmoil in me. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, something that’s grown over time, and for once, I find myself at a loss for words.

Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door—a soft, almost hesitant sound that cuts through the quiet of the room. I glance at Sarah, seeing the question in her eyes before turning my attention to the door. Who could be visiting us now, at this moment?

I place the baby gently in Sarah’s arms, giving her a reassuring nod before standing and heading toward the door. My mind races with possibilities, but nothing could have prepared me for what—or who—might be waiting on the other side.

I open the door to find Sophia standing there, her expression a mix of uncertainty and something else—something softer. She’s dressed simply, her hands clasped in front of her as if she’s not quite sure what to do next. The resemblance between her and Sarah strikes me all over again, even more so now, in this quiet, unexpected moment.

Sophia doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even try to step inside. She just stands there, waiting, her eyes flickering past me to where Sarah is lying on the bed, holding our daughter. The tension that usually accompanies her presence is absent, replaced by a tentative air of vulnerability that’s almost jarring.

I glance back at Sarah, who meets my eyes before shifting her gaze to Sophia. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, but then she gives a small nod, her expression softening. “Sophia… come in,” she says gently, her voice carrying the warmth ofa long-lost sister rather than the edge of someone who’s been betrayed.

Sophia takes a step inside, her movements slow and careful, as if she’s afraid of intruding. Her eyes go straight to the baby in Sarah’s arms, and for a moment, something like awe crosses her face. “She’s beautiful,” Sophia says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “She looks just like you.”

Sarah smiles, a touch of pride in her expression as she cradles the baby closer. “Thank you, Sophia.”

Sophia takes a few more steps into the room, her gaze fixed on the baby, but there’s something else in her eyes—an emotion I can’t quite place. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but she holds herself together, drawing closer to Sarah and the baby.

When she reaches the bedside, she hesitates again, her hand hovering, as if she’s not sure whether she should touch the baby or not. Sarah, sensing her hesitation, shifts slightly, allowing Sophia to lean in closer. Sophia reaches out, gently brushing her fingers over the baby’s soft cheek, and the tenderness in her touch is palpable.

“She’s so perfect,” Sophia says, her voice trembling with emotion. She pulls back slightly, her gaze shifting to Sarah’s face. “I had to come… I couldn’t stay away. I just… I needed to see you, to make sure you were okay. To congratulate you.”

There’s a silence that hangs between them, heavy with all the things left unsaid, all the hurt and confusion that has passed between them. None of that seems to matter. It’s just the two of them, connected by something deeper than blood, something that goes beyond the complications of their past.

Sophia’s eyes well with tears as she looks at Sarah, and I can see the depth of her emotions—the regret, the longing for the sisterly bond they once shared. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I didn’t know… I didn’t understand what you were going through.”

Sarah’s eyes soften, and she reaches out with her free hand, taking Sophia’s in hers. “I’m sorry too, Sophia,” she says quietly. “I never wanted to hurt you. I had to make impossible choices, but that doesn’t change how much you mean to me.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I’m unsure how Sophia will respond. But then, without another word, she leans down, wrapping her arms around Sarah in a gentle hug. Sarah hugs her back, holding her close, and I can see the tears in both their eyes. It’s a tender, fragile moment, one that feels like a long-overdue reconciliation.

Despite the years of distance, the betrayal, and the pain, it’s clear that the bond between them hasn’t been broken completely. There’s still something there, something real and strong, and I can see it in the way they cling to each other, their breaths shaky with unspoken words.

I stand back, watching the scene unfold, a mix of skepticism and reluctant acceptance churning in my gut. I don’t trust easily, and Sophia’s sudden appearance here sets off warning bells in my mind. As I watch Sarah’s face—her happiness, her relief—I know this moment is important to her. Right now, she’s all that matters.

Sophia finally pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand as she offers Sarah a watery smile. “I’ll leave you to rest,” she says, her voice still shaky. “I just… I’m glad I got to see you. Glad I got to meet her.”

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