Page 49 of 10 Days to Surrender

She flinches when I reach for her. Her free hand fists in my soaked shirt. “They— I felt them kick.Hard.Sasha?—”

I freeze. I’m twelve years old again, crouching over Mama’s body on the pavement, wondering how to put her back together. History isn’t repeating—it’s rhyming, vicious and mocking.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I tell her, already shifting to gather her in my arms. “Hold onto me.”

This time, she doesn’t argue.

The steering wheel creaks under my grip. Rain hammers the Peugeot’s roof like gunfire. I floor the accelerator, tires hydroplaning through a curve, as Ariel’s whimper grates at my ears.

“Almost there,” I lie.

Her knees press against the dashboard, hands splayed over her stomach. Every ragged breath kills me. I should’ve carried her down the hill. Should’ve let her rip my eyes out rather than risk this.

Stupid. Reckless. Weak.

“They’re moving. I think—maybe it’s okay?”

I glance over. Rainwater streaks through the mascara pooling beneath her eyes. Her sundress clings to the curve where our children grow. Alive.

For now.

The next bend comes too fast. We skid. Ariel’s head snaps toward me—green eyes wide, lips parted in a silent scream. My healing ribs scream as I wrench the wheel. Gravel pings against the undercarriage, but we straighten back out and keep charging down the road.

A contraction? Spasm? Whatever it is, her body seizes.

No. No no no.

I stomp the gas. The engine wails. Ariel’s fingers dig into her thighs, blunt nails tearing holes in soaked cotton.

“Talk to them.” The words rip free before I can choke them back. “They know your voice.”

Her sob shreds what’s left of my composure. “I can’t—I don’t know what to?—”

“Anything.” I swerve around a lumbering tractor. “Please.”

A shaky inhale. Then, barely audible over the storm: “Hey, little loves. It’s Mama.”

My throat clots. She’s never called herself that before.

“You’re giving me gray hairs already, you know that?” Her palm circles slowly. “But that’s okay. We’re okay. Just… hold on, yeah? Just a little longer.”

A guttural noise escapes me. Ariel’s gaze flicks up, tracking the tear I don’t bother to hide.

The hospital materializes through the downpour—a concrete monstrosity crowned with flickering red letters:Pronto Soccorso.

I mount the curb beside ambulances, doors flying open before the car fully stops.

She tries saying something, but I’m already lifting her. Her arms loop around my neck, forehead pressed to my jugular. Blood smears my collar. Hers? Mine? Doesn’t matter.

The automatic doors hiss open. A nurse shouts in rapid-fire Italian. I follow the gurney they shove under us, refusing to release her hand even when they try to pry me away.

Until, finally, we reach the exam room. I can’t go any farther. I can’t save her now; only they can.

“Ariel.”

She turns her head on the sterile pillow. Tears carve paths through the dirt on her cheeks. “Don’t you dare leave me, Sasha Ozerov.”

“I won’t,” I vow to her. “I never will again.”

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