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I can do this. I’ll make mistakes. I’ll screw up. I’ll be scared and unsure, but I’ll always be there for them. Always.
So now, it’s easy to lie back in my hospital bed and watch Misha. He’s standing by the window, our son slung across his right arm, our daughter tucked in his left. His eyes veer back and forth between the two of them, irises shining like they’re lit from within.
When he turns and catches me watching, he comes over. He hands me our baby boy, swaddled in blue, and sits down in the armchair next to my hospital bed. Our girl’s tiny pink fingers splay across his chest. Small as that hand is, I can see the possessiveness in it already. I sense more of the same in her father’s eyes. It’ll take the Jaws of Life to separate those two.
“Ava Orlov,” I murmur. “I like saying it.”
“Ava and Anton. My children. Our children.” Misha grins. This grin is unlike anything else I’ve ever seen from him. It’s warm and soft and contemplative. Most of all, it’s at ease.
His grief has melted away.
I glance down at my son. After his initial introduction to the world, he hasn’t made a peep. One cry, which quieted down the moment he was put at my breast.
I kiss his little brow and he wriggles his nose. His eyes blink open a fraction and he yawns lazily.
“He’s got your eyes,” I say with a smile. “I was hoping for that. He’s going to look just like you.”
“And Ava is going to look just like you,” Misha says, bending over to press his lips to mine. “Lucky girl.”
The door opens and one of the nurses walks in. “Sorry to interrupt, but your family is waiting outside to see the babies.”
Misha looks at me and scowls. “Do we have to?”
“Don’t be sour.” I smile up at him. “Time to let them in.”
“Alright,” he grumbles. “Can’t delay the inevitable. Go on then—send the jackals in.”
As soon as the doors part, they descend on us in hushed cheers and bright smiles. Nessa leads the group. She has tears in her eyes before she’s even seen them.
She strides forward and gazes down at her granddaughter in awe. “Look at her. Give her to me, Misha… Oh my, she’s a beauty.”
Nikita carefully plucks Anton out of my arms. “So is he. Look at those eyes!”
Cyrille peers over Niki’s shoulder and Ilya rises up on his tiptoes to get a better look at his cousins. Konstantin stands in the center of it all, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and an armada of translucent, pink and blue balloons with confetti floating around on the inside.
“How did I get stuck with being the delivery boy?” he asks grumpily.
“Suits your skill set,” Misha retorts.
Konstantin fires him a middle finger with a roguish grin. “I can’t believe it,” he sighs. “Misha has babies. Miracles never cease.”
Nessa echoes the same sentiment. “My baby has babies. Miracles never cease, indeed.”
A slow, soft smile spreads across my face. They’re not wrong. When I lost Clara, I stopped believing in miracles. I kept a junkyard necklace tied around my neck for so many years out of nothing but sheer stubbornness, not because I still believed in wonderful things happening.
But then, out of nowhere, miracles started cropping up again. Now, I’m swimming in them.
I have a husband.
A family.
A future.
I havehope.
And when I look through the windows, the starlight is the color of champagne.
EPILOGUE: MISHA
