Page 213 of Cashmere Cruelty

“I will get Matvey,” he assures me.

This time, I’m the one who gives him a sympathetic smile. “Right.”

As the cab speeds away with sweaty old me in the backseat, a weak part of my heart keeps holding on to hope. Hope that Matvey will drop his blushing bride and come running, that he will be there for me. Forus.

Because, despite it all, my heart still hasn’t stopped clinging to “happily ever after.”

By the time I get out of the cab, I’m barely standing. The pain has gotten unbearable—with every step, I’m terrified I’ll fall over. I don’t know if the cabbie was paid to walk me in, but he only gets me as far as the front gate before absconding with Grisha’s wad of cash. The rest of the way, I’m on my own.

I keep reaching out for someone to hold on to, but no one’s there.

The second Dr. Allan lays eyes on me, I’m rushed to the E.R. The hospital hive comes alive around me, a flurry of activity that I can’t keep track of. It’s all too fast, too soon.

Is this how my mom felt? With Charlie?

That’s when it finally sinks in:I’m about to give birth.

I’m about to become a mother.

“It’s going to be okay, April,” Dr. Allan soothes me. It’s somewhat undermined by the way she whirls around right after, yelling at some poor resident, “Where’s the epidural?!”

I still appreciate the attempt.

“Breathe,” she coaches. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I try to follow her instructions and calm down; I really, really do. But there’s no mistaking the panic in her voice, or the urgent way she rushes off with the rest of her team.

Then I’m left alone.

I’m assaulted by a wave of regret. I should’ve called June on the ride over—I should’ve called someone.I still could. My phone is right here, just a few inches away.

But I refuse.

I don’twantJune right now. I don’twantsomeone else.

I want Matvey.

I want my baby’sfather.

And if I can’t have him…

If I can’t have him, I won’t have anyone.

It’s a fruitless thought. Stubborn and bitter and every other ugly thing I’ve got locked up inside of me. It’s pathetic, all of it.

But right now, I don’t have the strength to be anything else.

How ironic. I always believed self-inflicted misery was Matvey’s poison, but clearly, we aren’t so different. God save our baby if that’s the case.

Our baby.“Couldn’t wait to meet me, could you?” I joke through the waves of pain. “Hold tight, Nugget. Mommy can’t wait to meet you, either.”

In a sea of bitterness, that’s the one sweet drop that keeps me going.

As the doctors rush me to the birthing room, I cling to that thought like a lifeline. I cling to it as they tell me all sorts of things: that the labor is progressing too quickly, that it’s already too late for an epidural. That I’m gonna have topush, ma’am, push.

As I call Matvey’s name, and no one answers.

As the agony of bringing a new life into the world tears through me, I cling to that one thought with all I have.

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