Page 96 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
He’s so still, like he’s been carved into that chair and left there.
Something inside me turns cold. The silence grows louder.
I force the words out, dry and cracking. “Did we lose the baby?”
His head lifts immediately. His eyes meet mine.
I can’t read the expression on his face. It’s not grief, but it isn’t relief either. It’s something heavier.
He stands. Slowly. Like he doesn’t want to move too fast.
Then I see it.
He’s holding something wrapped in white.
My breath catches and I forget how to exhale.
He crosses the room without a word. When he reaches the side of the bed, he doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at me, his mouth parted like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
Then he leans forward, and I see her.
A tiny face. Closed eyes. Soft lashes resting on full cheeks.
A baby.Ourbaby.
“She’s okay?” I whisper.
“She’s small, but she’s breathing. Strong heartbeat. Good lungs,” he says, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges. “No need for a ventilator. She came out swinging.”
He lowers her carefully into my arms. The second I feel her, something in me shatters.
He manages a crooked, lopsided grin. “Kicked the nurse too. She’s already got the Sharov attitude.”
She’s warm. So small I’m scared I’ll break her. Her fingers curl, twitching against the edge of the blanket. She makes a tiny sound—half sigh, half yawn.
Just like that, I start to cry. Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. I hold her closer, curling around her,shielding her from the cold, from the light, from everything that isn’t me.
“She’s perfect,” I manage.
“She is.”
“She’s really here.”
“Yeah.”
I can’t stop looking at her. I take in every detail: her nose, her hair, her tiny clenched fists. I brush a fingertip across the downy softness of her cheek, and she stirs slightly, her lips parting.
“I thought we lost her,” I whisper.
“I did too,” he says. “For a minute, I thought—” He doesn’t finish. He just shakes his head and sits beside me.
I turn my face toward him. “You waited?”
He nods. “I never left the hallway.”
“How long—?”
“Hours. It felt longer.”
