Page 79 of The Breath Before Forever

Vera tried to shake off her nerves, and even cleared her throat to make sure whatever came out of her mouth next was louder and clearer for her friend.

Vera had slipped one of her hands alongside Hannah’s, grabbing tightly around her fingers just in case her friend squeezed back. Hannah’s other hand, attached to an IV line on the other side of the bed remained still and propped on the top of her midsection’s swell.

“You’re about twenty-four weeks today,” Vera informed the quiet room.

Or it felt like it.

Despite the laundry list of information the nurse had gone over with Vera about comas and Hannah’s current predicament—including all the possibilities and likelihoods—she wasn’t sure that her friend could hear her. Besides, even if Hannah could hear her, it wasn’t as if anything Vera had to say would make up for how they found themselves.

Especially not Hannah.

“Did they tell you yet that you’re having a girl?” Vera asked.

Hannah gave no response.

More than anything, Vera wished that they had taken a few more minutes to discuss the future. Even a brief second to get out all of their what ifs. Did her friend have any names in mind? Did she want the baby to be Christened like she had been? What do we do if you don’t wake up?

That question screamed at Vera, and the fact she didn’t have any answer except the ones that felt selfish left her with guilt chewing on every last shred of her broken heart. What right did she have to want to promise Hannah she’d do anything and everything for her friend’s child when Vera had barely wanted the baby that should have been her own?

The truth didn’t just hurt.

It was bitter, too.

Like broken glass, unforgiving.

While she had been careful about the way she held Hannah’s hand so that it remained touching her belly, Vera still felt the unborn baby shift and move inside her mother. Like a wave shifting from one side of the swollen sheet tucked around Hannah to the other; it was both amazing and sort of terrifying.

The hiss of air as the door seal broke and the panels slid open echoed in the quiet room. The midsestra from earlier—the one who had known Kiril by name and smiled wide at Vera’s introduction—stepped into the room with a folded white blanket and pillow tucked around her arms.

“I brought these for you to have if you’re staying. It’s only me and another girl on the ward tonight, so we’ll be quite busy,” the woman informed.

“I don’t think Kiril will want to hang around that lo—”

“It wouldn’t be the first time that boy slept in the parking lot of this hospital. Trust me.”

Vera gave the blanket and pillow a second look, considering.

The nurse shrugged, adding, “And the blanket was even in the warmer. Your chair lays flat like a small bed, by the way. There’s a lever on the side to do it.”

Her attention shifted back to Hannah.

Then, to the nurse again.

What reason did she have to go home?

No one would be there waiting.

“I’ll stay,” Vera told the woman.

21.

At night, Moscow was most beautiful—it really came alive, vibrant and practically breathing. In Vaslav’s humble opinion, anyway. He’d never been very fond of the city to begin with, preferring the solitude and privacy his rural beginnings offered, so in one way or another, he always made his way back home to Dubna.

Or the general area.

When he did have to spend his days and evenings in Moscow, however, he enjoyed it most at night. So much so, that he’d been known as a brigadier—and later, boss—who didn’t do business until the sun was down. Truthfully, he didn’t really think men of his sort were meant to be out in the daylight and public like the rest of polite society.

Then, no one had to pretend.