Page 38 of Pregnant By the Bratva

Sarah smiles back, her grip on Sophia’s hand lingering for a moment longer before she lets go. “Thank you for coming, Sophia. It means a lot.”

Sophia nods, and after one last, lingering look at the baby, she turns to leave. Before she does, she glances at me, her expression unreadable. There’s something in her eyes that gives me pause—maybe it’s a silent acknowledgment of the role I now play in Sarah’s life, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything we’ve all been through. Either way, she doesn’t say anything, simply nodding before she steps out of the room.

As the door closes behind Sophia, the room is engulfed in a heavy silence. I can’t shake the unease that lingers after her visit, the way she looked at me before she left. It was as if she was trying to convey something, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I turn back to Sarah, who’s now gently rocking our daughter, her expression soft and thoughtful.

I cross the room, my footsteps slow and deliberate as I approach the bed. “I don’t like that she came here,” I say, my voice low, the tension clear in my tone. “Especially without warning.”

Sarah glances up at me, the weariness in her eyes deepening. She looks exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally too, and I can see that the visit has taken a toll on her. “Ivan,” she murmurs, her voice laced with fatigue, “I’m too tired to argue about this right now.”

I hesitate, the words on the tip of my tongue, but one look at her—at the way she cradles our daughter, at the shadows under her eyes—makes me pause. This isn’t the time for a confrontation, not after everything she’s been through today.

“She’s trying, you know,” Sarah continues, her voice softening. “She came here to see me, to meet our daughter, to make things right. That should count for something.”

I know she’s right, at least in part. Sophia showing up here might be a step toward reconciliation, toward putting the past behind us. I can’t shake the instinct to protect, to keep our family safe from anything and anyone that could be a threat. It’s not in my nature to let my guard down, not even for someone Sarah once considered a sister.

“Maybe,” I concede, though my tone remains guarded. “That doesn’t mean I trust her.”

Sarah sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly as she shifts the baby in her arms. “I’m not asking you to trust her, Ivan. I’m just asking you to give her a chance. She’s lost too—trying to find her place after everything that’s happened. We both are.”

Her words tug at something deep inside me, a place I’ve kept locked away for years. I reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her soft skin. “I don’t want anything to hurt you,” I say quietly, the admission coming out rougher than I intended. “Or our daughter.”

Sarah looks up at me, her expression softening as she leans into my touch. “I know you don’t. And that’s why I trust you, Ivan. I trust that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe. Sometimes… sometimes people need to be given the benefit of the doubt.”

I nod slowly, though the unease in my chest doesn’t fully dissipate. “I’ll consider it,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. “For you.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she leans back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I watch her for a long moment, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions I’m still trying to understand. For Sarah, I’ll do anything, even if it means letting my guard down—just a little. But one thing is certain: I’ll never stop protecting her, and I’ll never let anyone or anything come between us.

As I stand there, watching the two most important people in my life, I feel a sense of clarity settle over me. No matter what comes next, I know where I stand. For now, that’s enough.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sarah

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as I slowly wake up. My hand instinctively reaches for the space beside me, only to find it empty. Ivan is already gone. I can’t help the small pang of disappointment that settles in my chest. I’ve started to dislike his absence more and more each day, and I know it’s not a good thing. The growing attachment I feel for him isn’t something I can afford, not in this world, not with the life we lead.

How can I stop it? How can I stop these feelings that have only intensified since our daughter was born? He’s the father of my child, the man who holds my life in his hands, and against all odds, I’ve come to care for him. Deeply. It’s terrifying.

I push the thoughts aside and sit up, running a hand through my hair as I try to shake off the remnants of sleep. My gaze drifts to the crib on the other side of the room, and a smallsmile tugs at my lips. I throw the covers off and pad over to the crib, my heart swelling as I look down at my daughter.

She’s awake, her tiny hands waving in the air as she looks up at me with those wide, curious eyes. The same green as her father’s, the same intensity in her gaze even at this young age. I reach down and gently scoop her up, cradling her against my chest as I press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, my little love,” I whisper, my voice filled with warmth as I rock her gently in my arms. She coos softly, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if she never wants to let go. The connection I feel with her is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—pure, unbreakable, and fiercely protective.

I carry her over to the rocking chair by the window and sit down, settling her in my lap as I run my fingers through the soft tufts of her hair. “You’re growing so fast,” I murmur, marveling at the tiny miracle in my arms. “Just a few weeks old, and you’re already changing every day.”

She responds with a gurgle, her little face scrunching up in what I can only describe as a baby smile. It’s moments like these that make everything worth it—the chaos, the uncertainty, the danger that comes with being tied to Ivan and the world he’s entrenched in. I’ve never known love like this, and I know that I’ll do anything to keep her safe, to give her the life I never had.

I’m lost in the moment, completely absorbed in my daughter, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance over, my brow furrowing as I see a message from an unknown number. Carefully, I reach for the phone, holding it at an angle so I can still keep an eye on my baby as I open the message.

It’s a voice message.

My heart skips a beat, a sense of unease creeping in as I hesitantly press play. The moment the voice comes through the speaker, I freeze.

“Sarah, it’s me… it’s your mother.”

Her voice is older, worn down by time, but there’s no mistaking it. The familiar cadence, the way she says my name—it’s all so painfully familiar, and it takes me back to a place I’ve tried to forget. I haven’t heard her voice since I was sixteen, since the day she walked out of our lives and left me to raise my brother alone. A flood of emotions crashes over me—anger, sorrow, confusion—each one hitting me with the force of a wave.

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