Page 124 of Mile High Daddy

She’s here.

She’s safe.

That’s all that matters.

I take a step back, just looking at her, drinking in every detail.

God, I missed her.

“Come sit,” I say, finally finding my voice.

She nods, letting me lead her to the couch, her fingers still laced with mine like she doesn’t want to let go either. Mikhail stands near the doorway, arms crossed, watching carefully, but for once, I don’t focus on him. It’s just me and her.

When we sit, she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her eyes softening. “You look beautiful.”

I let out a shaky laugh, pressing my hand to my belly. “And big.”

She smiles, her fingers grazing my wrist. “I can’t believe it. Twins.”

I swallow, my throat tight. “I wanted you to be here. For all of it.”

“I know, baby,” she whispers, her own voice thick with emotion. “I wanted that too.”

A silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we lost, all the time that passed.

I could cry again.

I almost do. But instead, I just squeeze her hand and say, “Tell me everything.”

She exhales, leaning back slightly, gathering her thoughts.

A slow clap breaks the moment.

I turn toward my father, already bracing myself for whatever nonsense he’s about to spew. He’s leaning against the doorframe, looking pleased with himself, like he just personally orchestrated a grand reunion.

“Touching,” he says, smirking. “Really. Almost like a happy family.”

I roll my eyes, barely containing my disgust. “What do you want, Dad? A thank you? A gold star?”

His smirk widens, and I swear, it takes everything in me not to throw something at him.

“Just appreciating my own handiwork,” he says, gesturing toward my mother like she’s some trophy he delivered. “I do believe you asked for her, and now here she is. Safe and sound. You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

I resist the urge to groan out loud.

What an idiot.

He didn’t do this out of kindness. He did it because it benefits him, to look good in front of my husband. He owes Mikhail big-time.

Before I can snap back, Mikhail speaks.

“Thank you,” he says flatly, with zero warmth.

I blink, startled. Did he just—thank him?

Mikhail’s posture is completely at ease, but his eyes? Cold. Deadly.

And then—he steps forward.

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