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“I keep thinking this can't be real,” he said into my hair. “That I'll wake up and you'll be gone. That none of this happened.”

“If this is a dream, we're having the same one.” I covered his hand with mine.

His hand moved in gentle circles over the small swell where our child grew. “Are you happy, Natalia? Truly?”

The question was earnest, vulnerable in a way only I got to see. I turned in his arms to face him, finding his eyes in the dim light.

“Yes,” I said simply. “Against all logic and reason, yes.”

“You know,our child is going to be spoiled rotten, yeah?” I murmured a few minutes later.

“Our child,” he repeated.

“Our son or daughter,” I murmured. “Fifty-fifty chance.”

“A daughter would be perfect. I’d be surrounded by the two most beautiful women in the world. What a blessing.”

As I drifted off, I couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of my life's trajectory. One year ago, I'd been kidnapped from a Trader Joe's parking lot. Now I was pregnant and married to my kidnapper.

My therapist had eventually fired me as a client, claiming my “persistent romanticization of a clearly Stockholm syndrome situation” was beyond her professional capabilities. Galina cackled for five straight minutes when I told her.

But as I fell asleep in my husband's arms, pregnant with our child, I couldn't help but be grateful for how everything turned out.

the end.

But the story isn't over yet...