Page 64 of Single Mom's Daddies
And Ivy’s heart…
The sun’s not even up yet when I climb the stairs to the second floor of the main house. The kids are still asleep. The air is thick with that just-before-dawn stillness—every floorboard groan louder, every step amplified.
Mrs. Popovich’s door is closed, but I knock anyway.
A pause. “Come in.”
Of course she’s awake. The woman was probably born upright and functioning. She’s already dressed—sensible slacks, knit sweater, hair pinned and curled like she’s meeting royalty for breakfast. She’s pouring herself tea from one of those ancient thermoses she keeps beside her bed. “Good morning, dear,” she says like it’s not five-something and the sky’s still navy.
“Morning.” I rub the back of my neck. “I need a favor.”
Her lips twitch. “One of those mornings?”
“One of those lifetimes.”
She arches a brow but doesn’t ask.
“I need someone to watch the kids today. Here. In the house. We—me, Roman, and Nikolai—we have something to take care of with Saffron.”
She doesn’t blink. “Of course.”
“I’ll owe you.”
“You already do.” Her smile is quick, and it eases something in my chest. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll handle the children.”
“Thank you.”
She waves me off with a flick of her hand and turns back to her tea like I haven’t just dropped a hundred pounds of unspoken mess into her lap.
I walk back down the stairs, past the silent hallway where Mila and Alex are still curled up in their rooms, and head to the kitchen. Evidently, I finished the pot, so I make another. The smell hits first—comforting, bitter, warm. I stand at the counter and let it soak in.
Ivy’s not here yet. But she already feels like part of the house. Like a presence. Like someone missing from every chair, every hallway, every photo.
I wonder what she’ll make of us. Of this life. I pour my coffee and sip slow. The mug warms my hands, but it doesn’t settle my nerves.
Roman walks in a few minutes later, dressed but unshaven, his hair a little wild like he ran his fingers through it five times before giving up. He nods to me, then heads straight for the counter. He pours his cup, adds a splash of cream, stirs twice. Silent.
Nikolai shows up next, barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, eyes still bleary.
I take another sip, then set my mug down and look at them both. “Hospital today?”
Roman looks up. Nikolai glances over his shoulder. They nod in unison.
“Good,” I say.
No one has anything else to add. What can you say, really? We just found out we have a daughter. And today, we will ask to meet her.
Saffron walks into the kitchen, hair in a bun, no makeup, sweatshirt hanging loose over leggings like she dressed in the dark and didn’t care. She stops when she sees us. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“We’d like to meet our daughter today.”
The words don’t echo, but they might as well.
“Okay,” she says. Her smile is everything.
16
NIKOLAI
