Page 89 of Cruel Juliet

Because now, I’m with my family.

36

SIMA

Hours later, the chaos is over.

The machines hum softly and the hallway beyond the door remains quiet. It’s just the three of us now.

I cradle our daughter against my chest, her tiny body wrapped in a hospital blanket. Her breathing is soft and even, her face relaxed in sleep. A little sigh escapes her every few seconds, like she’s already dreaming.

I hope she is. That she’s having the best dream she can.

Petyr sits in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her. He hasn’t looked away for more than a few seconds since she arrived. Every time she stirs, he leans forward a little, like he’s afraid she might disappear if he blinks.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I whisper.

“She’s perfect,” he says quietly.

I study our daughter’s face. Her tiny nose, her faint lashes. Her tiny fist curled like a new rose near her cheek. “She looks like you.”

Petyr shakes his head. “She’s you all over. Same mouth. Same nose.” His lips curve. “Same stubborn chin.”

“Oh, she’s stubborn, alright. You weren’t there for the first part. She was practically stabbing her way out.”

“Then maybe she takes more after me.”

I laugh softly, careful not to wake her. “I can’t believe she’s real.”

Petyr’s hand brushes the baby’s blanket. “I’ve seen a lot of things,” he says. “But nothing like this.”

Me neither.It’s right there on my lips, but I don’t say it. I don’t need to. It’s obvious to both of us: this little girl right here? She’s the best thing we’ve ever made.

She’s everything.

The quiet stretches between us, comfortable in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. I let myself be lulled by it. The painkillers are in full swing, and I plan to take full advantage of it to stay conscious. I’d rather pass out later.

Petyr reaches out again. This time, he traces a fingertip along our daughter’s tiny arm. His movements are slow, careful, almost reverent.

“She’s so small,” he says. “I didn’t think…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I didn’t think I could feel this much.”

I look at him then, really look. The sharpness in his expression is gone. All the hardness, the anger—it’s still there somewhere, but buried under something else. Awe.

He loves her.

There’s no doubt in my mind. Petyr loves our daughter with all his heart. The way he’s looking at her is unmistakable.

Another knot in my chest—the one I didn’t want to think about, that kept whispering Petyr would be the same kind of father mine was to me—slowly comes loose all the way.

I don’t have to fear that anymore.

“Petyr,” I say quietly. “She’s safe now. We both are.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “She’s safe.”

I fall back against the pillow and, for one greedy moment, I let myself believe it. The war, the fear, all the walls between us—they fade into the background. It’s just us, sitting in the soft hospital light, watching the tiny miracle that somehow survived everything.

I press my lips to our daughter’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, little one.”