Page 50 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

A soft cry breaks the moment.

We both freeze, pulling apart as Tyler stirs in my arms. His tiny fists clench, his face scrunching in discomfort, and Jennifer is at his side instantly, her hands gentle as she soothes him. “Shh, baby,” she coos softly, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. Mama’s here.”

I watch her, my chest tight with something unfamiliar. Seeing her like this—so tender, so natural with our son—does something to me. She smiles down at Tyler, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and for the first time in a long while, I feel… peace.

“Come on,” I say after a moment, my voice rougher than intended. “Let’s go inside.”

Jennifer nods, still humming softly to Tyler as we walk back toward the house. The garden fades behind us, and soon we’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, the warmth of the fire crackling beside us. She lays Tyler down gently on a blanket nearby, and he settles back to sleep.

I turn to her, leaning forward slightly. “Are you sure?” I ask, my voice low. “About not wanting revenge. It’s a rare opportunity, Jennifer. Not many get the chance.”

She glances at Tyler, a soft smile tugging at her lips before meeting my gaze again. “I’m sure,” she whispers. “My mother wouldn’t have wanted it.”

Her words hang in the air, and I can see the conviction in her eyes. She’s not just saying it for the sake of peace. She means it.

“What was she like?” I ask, surprising even myself with the question. I’ve never cared much about someone else’s past, especially not in the way I care now. I want to know—about her mother, about what shaped Jennifer into the woman sitting before me.

Jennifer’s face softens, and she leans back against the cushions, her eyes distant as she begins to speak. “She was… everything to me,” she starts, her voice thick with emotion. “Strong, brave, kind. She was a police officer, and she always stood up for what was right. No matter the cost.”

I listen, my gaze fixed on her, watching the way her eyes light up when she talks about her mother. “She raised me alone,” Jennifer continues, a sad smile on her lips. “My father wasn’t in the picture, but she never let me feel like I was missing anything. She worked long hours, but she always made time for me. We didn’t have much, but she gave me everything.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect. I can see the love she had for her mother, the way her voice trembles when she talks about her. “She always wanted to protect me,” Jennifer adds, her eyes glistening. “Even after I went off to college at eighteen, she’d call me after her shifts just to make sure I was okay.”

Jennifer pauses, her hand brushing against Tyler’s tiny foot as he sleeps soundly beside us. “When she was killed,” she whispers, her voice cracking, “it broke me. I couldn’t think straight. I was so angry.”

I reach for her hand, my fingers brushing over hers, and she doesn’t pull away. “I get it,” I say quietly. “Violence is… part of this life.”

Jennifer meets my gaze, her expression softening as she nods. “I know,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I just want to raise our son in peace. I want him to be safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

My chest tightens, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I know one thing—I’m not going to let anything happen to them. Not anymore.

“You don’t have to worry,” I say, my voice firm. “He’ll be safe. Both of you will.”

Jennifer smiles softly, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can actually keep that promise.

Chapter Twenty-Three - Jennifer

Tyler is finally asleep, his little chest rising and falling in the soft glow of the nightlight. I smile down at him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He looks so peaceful, so innocent. Sometimes, I can hardly believe he’s mine. This tiny human with Timur’s piercing blue eyes and stubborn expression. I feel a warmth spread through me as I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

It’s quiet tonight. Timur’s not home, and for once, I’m alone in this huge mansion. It’s strange—when I first arrived here, I hated the silence. Every creak and groan of the old house set me on edge. But now, I’ve grown used to it, even found a sense of comfort in solitude. It’s a reprieve from the whirlwind of emotions that come with living here, with Timur.

I make my way to the kitchen, planning to brew some tea and maybe curl up with a book, when I hear a knock at the door. My heart skips a beat. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and Timur hadn’t mentioned any visitors. A chill runs down my spine as I hesitate in the hallway.

The knock comes again, a little softer this time. I swallow hard and walk to the door, peeking through the peephole. Relief floods through me when I see a familiar face—Katya, Timur’s mother.

I open the door, offering her a small smile. “Katya, hi.”

She stands there with that regal grace she always carries, her eyes softening when they land on me. “Hello, Jennifer. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No, not at all,” I reply quickly, stepping aside to let her in. “Please, come in.”

Katya walks into the house with a kind of ease, like she’s been here countless times before. She’s a tall woman, slender and elegant, her silver hair pinned back in a simple yet sophisticated style. There’s something comforting about her presence, something that feels… genuine.

“I came to see how you and Tyler are doing,” she says, her gaze scanning the room before landing on me again. “I know Timur’s not home, but I figured it would be nice to check in.”

I smile, feeling a bit of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Thank you. We’re doing well. Tyler just went to sleep.”

Katya nods approvingly. “It takes a village to raise a child, you know. I’m glad you’re settling in, but don’t hesitate to lean on us. Family is important, especially for a little one.”

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