Page 71 of Sold to the Bratva
“Thank you,” Isaac says, his voice barely above a breath, eyes never leaving me.
“Please stay,” I say, before she can leave the room. “If my mom were alive, I’d want her to be here. You’ve taken care of me just as well as she would have. Please stay with us.”
Her eyes glass over, and she nods, circling to my other side to clasp my free hand. “It would be my genuine honor.”
Another contraction seizes me and I groan, clutching both of their hands.
Isaac squeezes back, and I turn to look at him.
“I’m here, Katya. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be by your side for every moment.”
And I know he means more than just this labor. He’ll be here for the rest of our child’s life, including the late nights, the mountains of diapers, and the constant crying. He’ll be here for scraped knees and crushed feelings, and he’ll still be here whenour kid morphs into a bratty teenager who can’t stand either of us.
A surprising wave of calm washes over me. With him beside me, my body remembers what to do. I push again.
Time collapses and expands. Isaac is a rock beside me, whispering encouragement, holding my hand, letting me crush his fingers without flinching. He counts softly with the nurse, brushes my hair from my face, and tells me I’m doing so well, that he’s never seen anyone so strong, so beautiful.
Pain consumes me, but his voice cuts through it like light at the end of a tunnel.
“I love you,” he murmurs between pushes, lips at my temple. “You’re everything, Katya. Everything.”
I can’t speak, but my heart answers for me, clinging to every word he pours into the air.
Maude stays anchored at my side, coaching me with her steady, affectionate voice. Just when I think I can’t survive another second, a cry splits the air, a high-pitched, brand-new sound.
My body collapses into the mattress, suddenly remembering what it means to rest. Through the haze, I watch Isaac rise while the nurse swaddles the baby in a soft white blanket.
“It’s…” I gasp, trying to sit up.
The nurse smiles. “A beautiful, healthy girl.”
A girl. My chest splits wide open. Isaac stares, utterly still. I’ve never seen him this frozen, this awed. She’s tiny, red-faced, screaming her lungs out, and absolutely perfect.
“She’s…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I know,” he whispers.
The nurse guides him into cutting the umbilical cord, and then they’re taking her away to clean her off. I watch this all through hazy, heavy lids while Maude strokes my hand and gives me updates.
“Oh, she’s a little fighter,” she says happily. “There’s nothing wrong with her lungs. I bet she’s just as stubborn as her father is.”
I listen through a blur until the nurse finally places her in my arms, and I fall apart all over again. She’s warm, soft, impossibly small. Her fingers curl around mine, and something inside me shifts permanently, as though my entire life has narrowed to this single perfect moment.
Isaac sits beside me, staring at the baby like he’s seen a miracle.
“She has your eyes,” I whisper.
He looks up at me, emotion brimming at the edges of his usual steel expression. “She has your heart.”
Maude pats my hand once more, murmuring that she’ll give us a few minutes. We sit in silence, the three of us, the weight of danger, chaos, and betrayal suspended in this tiny room where only love exists.
“I thought I lost you,” I admit quietly, cradling her close. “When Mikhail pulled me out, when I heard the gunfire, I didn’t know if you were coming back.”
“I would’ve crawled here on my knees,” he says, voice rough. “If it meant seeing this moment.”
He leans forward, presses a kiss to the crown of our daughter’s head, then to my temple. “You saved me, Katya. You made me a better man. And now we have her.”
I smile through the tears. “She’s ours.”
