Page 177

Everything is silent outside, and everything is peaceful inside.
The soft creak of the rocking chair.
The warmth of the dimly lit nursery.
The quiet hum of our family settling into place.
Chiara sits in the rocking chair, her body relaxed, her skin glowing with the aftermath of bringing our eldest daughter into the world.
She’s draped in one of our shirts, the fabric loose around her body, falling off of one shoulder.
My entire attention is on the tiny, perfect baby who’s cradled in her arms.
Our daughter nurses quietly, her small mouth latched onto Chiara’s breast, her tiny fingers curled around her mother’s skin.
Chiara strokes her delicate back with slow, careful movements, her touch so soft, so full of love, it makes something in my chest tighten.
Nikolai kneels beside the chair, one hand braced against the side of it.
The other hand rests lightly over our baby’s swaddled legs, as if he still can’t believe that she’s real.
I know the feeling.
I sink to my knees too, one arm draping over Chiara’s lap, with my free hand resting gently against our daughter’s impossibly small stomach.
She’s so tiny like this, her body curled up like she’s remembering what it felt like to be inside Chiara.
My throat is tight as I watch her.
Too tight.
“She needs a name.” I murmur, my voice low, hushed in the stillness of the room. “She’s ours, but she’s yours too. Tell us, what do you want to name her?”
Chiara lifts her gaze away from our baby as she looks between Nikolai and myself.
Her eyes are soft and tired, but she’s glowing as a quiet smile tugs at the corners of her lips.
She shifts her hold on our baby slightly, adjusting her in her arms, and I watch the way her fingers gently stroke over our daughter’s soft cheek.
Then Chiara breathes out a single name.
“Anastasia.” She says. “I like that name for her. What do you both think?”
Nikolai makes a low, pleased sound.
“Anastasia.”
He repeats, his voice smooth, and approving too.
My fingers curl around the fabric of our baby’s swaddle, my thumb rubbing across her full cheek.
“Anastasia Vasiliev.”
I breathe out, looking up at Chiara.
She tilts her head, a small knowing smile touching her lips.
“Do you both like it?”