When I fall silent, he speaks quietly, but fiercely.
“Your father will never touch our child,” he vows, voice low and absolute. “No part of that old darkness will ever reach either of you. Not while I’m breathing. You are not forgettable, Anja. You are not a burden. You are the woman who survived all of that and still found the strength to fight back against Fadir. The woman who handed me the tools to destroy him. The woman carrying my child.”
His hand moves from my back to gently cover mine, where it clutches the sonogram. The pregnancy is making every emotion feel bigger and more terrifying, but so does the quiet, steady way this man keeps choosing me and our baby without demanding anything in return.
I cry in his arms then, and not a quiet cry but full-fledged, ugly, with heaving sobs that shake my whole body. He pulls me against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around me while the other hand rests protectively over my stomach. He doesn’tshush me. He doesn’t tell me to stop. He simply holds me, chin resting on top of my head, letting me fall apart against the solid warmth of him.
The walls I built around my heart crack further in that moment. The small voice that has always warned me that trust is dangerous whispers louder than ever, but it’s harder to hear over the steady beat of Alexey’s heart under my cheek.
Revenge against Fadir is still burning inside me, sharper than before and necessary. But for the first time, the future feels less like a battlefield I have to survive alone and more like something I might actually want to build.
If I can let myself believe it.
If I can let myself believe him.
“You’re not alone anymore. Not in this. Not in anything.” Alexey presses a kiss to the top of my head, his voice a quiet rumble against my hair.
I nod against his chest, tears still falling, but the terror feels a little smaller in the circle of his arms.
The pregnancy has changed everything.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s changing me too.
***
The brunch invitation from Arina came as a surprise and a relief.
“Girl time,” she texted. “No brothers, no family business talk, just food and gossip. Katya’s in town and wants to meet you properly. Meet us at The Garden Room at 11.”
I almost said no. The pregnancy is making everything feel heavier. My emotions, my ever-changing body, and the constant reminder of fear that Fadir is still out there somewhere, plotting.
“Arina and Katya will keep you safe. You need this,” Alexey encouraged me gently.
So here I am, sitting at a sunny corner table at The Garden Room, a charming upscale café tucked in a quiet part of the city with ivy-covered walls and fresh flowers on every table. Arina looks radiant in a deep red blouse, her lush ebony hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Katya sits across from me, elegant and soft-spoken, with kind eyes that seem to understand more than she says.
The three of us have been laughing for nearly an hour. Arina is telling a story about the time Alexey, at sixteen, tried to impress a girl by cooking her dinner and nearly burned down the estate kitchen. Katya adds gentle details, her laugh light and musical.
For the first time in weeks, I feel almost normal. We’re just three women sharing a meal, talking about everything and nothing.
The food is perfect: avocado toast with poached eggs for me, which happens to be the only thing that doesn’t turn my stomach lately, fresh pastries, and mimosas for them. I sip sparkling water and let their warmth wrap around me like a blanket.
Then Katya’s expression changes.
Her eyes flick toward the entrance, and her posture stiffens. The laugh dies on her lips.
“Two of Fadir’s men,” she says quietly, voice tight but stern. “Near the hostess stand. Black jackets. One has a scar on his left cheek. Don’t look.”
My stomach drops. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. Arina’s hand immediately covers mine under the table, squeezing once…a silent command to stay calm.
“I’m calling Tikhon. Stay seated. Smile like we’re still talking about nothing important,” Katya already has her phone out, texting rapidly.
My heart starts hammering. I missed them. I am so caught up in the easy conversation, in feeling safe for once, that I didn’t even notice. The old terror rises fast. It’s the same fear that used to send me hiding in closets as a child. Fadir’s reach still feels endless.
Arina keeps up the chatter, her voice bright and natural, but her grip on my hand is iron. “So then Alexey walks in covered in flour, looking like a disaster, and tries to pretend the smoke is just ‘ambiance’—”
“Two of Klem’s men at The Garden Room. Anja’s with us. Yes. Immediately,” Katya murmurs into her phone, voice low and urgent.
We wait.
