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He loves me. I know that.
He wants to protect me … I believe that too.
He thinks I’m a danger to myself. He thinks Ruslan is an enemy.
I’m not ready to believe those.
Dropping heavily onto my bed, I flop backward, throwing an arm across my face. If I was tired before, I feel boneless now. My elbow clicks on something hard—the hairbrush. Picking it up, I study the bristles. My finger traces over the soft tips, recalling again the childhood memory of my mother brushing my hair. Is she alone or with Ruslan?
Or is she with Yevgeniy?
Shuddering, I lay the hairbrush across my belly. The side of my wrist rubs my skin where the nightgown has shifted aside. There’s nothing to listen to but my own heartbeat. Nothing to distract me when a firm, solid kick jabs against the inside of my belly—softly at first, like a flutter of gas. But then it comes again.
And again. More insistent than before.
Oh my God!
Gasping, I sit upright, the hairbrush toppling carelessly to the floor. My head throbs from how fiercely I’m concentrating with both hands clasping my belly.
The baby kicked for the first time.
Wet droplets appear on my nightshirt. Sniffling, I clear the tears away. My baby … my sweet baby, you’re so strong. I can’t believe it. This is the most amazing thing ever. For years, I wished for this. Having a child meant everything to me. When I came so close in the past, only to be robbed of the joy by sheer chance, I convinced myself that being a mother wasn’t meant to be.
Simon created a tower of guilt I didn’t expect to ever leave behind. He made me think losing our baby was my fault. That I didn’t deserve another.
Yet here I am … getting what I wished for.
I thought people like me didn’t get miracles. But clearly, I was wrong.
All because of Arsen.
That frustrating man has brought me untold levels of chaos. The turmoil, the stress, all of it has been overwhelming. In spite of that though, he’s also brought me the one thing I always wanted.
That has to count for something.
Right?
29
ARSEN
Stepping out of my shoes, I throw them carelessly to the far end of my bedroom. My overshirt goes next. I’m in nothing but my pants and a sleeveless undershirt when someone knocks on my door.
Drawing my hand over my face, I stare at my reflection in the closet door mirror. I’m haggard, to put it politely. If it’s Ulyana knocking, she’s going to take one look at the messy state of my room and conclude I’m becoming a slob. Finding the energy to be tidy isn’t easy. This listlessness goes beyond mere exhaustion.
I’m bone-tired after my talk with Galina. Every conversation we have feels like a battle. I’m not winning any of them, though I don’t think I’d feel better if I did.
The knock comes again—more insistent. Sighing, I grab the brass knob and yank. “What do you—” I stop talking. Galina stands in front of me in a thin lavender silk robe she’s thrown hastily around her shoulders. “Galina, what’s wrong?” After telling me she needed time, I expected she’d avoid me until tomorrow.
“It’s the baby.”
My heart stops. Something is wrong. I experience a split second of terror before she finishes speaking.
“It kicked,” she says, motioning for my hand. “Here. Feel.”
Allowing her to hold my wrist, I gingerly press my palm to her rounded belly. All the blood in my body is rushing to my brain. I can taste the metallic excitement on my tongue. Time slows down to a crawl. I’ve never been so impatient for anything in my life.
I’m about to ask if she’s sure the baby kicked when it happens.
