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In love.

Love .

A word that once felt so distant, like something other people spoke about but I never fully understood.

My father loved me, I got to learn, in his own way. His version of love was distant, like the feeling of staring at the stars from a million miles away. A hug was rare, and at some point, a kind word was even rarer. Yet, I knew, deep down, that he cared. In his own way. It was just buried beneath the weight of his shortcomings with my mother.

My mother…she was tougher but distant. If she loved at all, then it was love from the background, silently, without touch or reassurance. Maybe it was love, I suppose, but not the kind that filled you.

Jayden, though. With him, I knew love—real, tangible, and full. He gave it without question, without hesitation. As a kid, he’d sneak into my room during storms, wrapping his small arms around me to keep the fear at bay. He stood by me, always, even when I didn’t agree with his choices. And I loved him just as fiercely. With Jayden, love was simple—pure, like an unspoken pact that no matter what happened, we had each other.

But now…Timur.

What I feel for him is nothing like the love I have ever known before. It is not partial, or silent, or simple. Just…consuming.

This gift he gave me, the diamond bracelet. The cool metal against my skin is a stark contrast to the warmth that spreads through my chest every time I think of him.

He isn’t gentle. Far from it.

He is not easy to love.

He is harsh, unyielding, and terrifying in his intensity. But I guess that’s what makes it real.

With him, love isn’t a feeling—it’s a conviction.

It is more than butterflies in my stomach or the racing of my heart when he is near, though those things happen, too. It is deeper, rooted in the way he looks at me like I am more important to him than I think I am, even when he tries to hide it. It is in the way he protects me, fiercely, without hesitation.

When I am with him, I feel…seen. Completely. Like he stripped me down to my very soul and decided I was worth loving anyway.

I’ve never felt this kind of love before. It’s terrifying and beautiful all at once. It doesn’t just sit on the surface; it digs deep, pulling at every corner of who I am, reshaping me in ways I can’t fully understand yet.

And I love him back more than I ever thought possible. I love the way he carries his pain, the way his hands are rough yet gentle when they touch me. I love the man behind the walls he’s built, the one he lets me see when no one else is watching.

This realization isn’t sudden—it’s been growing, piece by piece, with every moment we’ve shared: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. But now, sitting here, it feels overwhelming, undeniable. And it’s not just love. It’s certainty. Conviction.

I am in love with my husband.

Timur is mine, and maybe I am his. I’ll probably never know if I’ll be the only one for him, like he is the only one for me, and I will probably never tell him. But nothing in the world could ever change that.

“Great. Never to see the light of day.” I slammed the book shut, admiring the glittering grey cover of my newest hardback 2024 journal. Again, one of my husband’s many gifts to me.

Pregnant and idle—great thanks to my husband’s busy schedule, which kept him away from home more often— after my first trimester, I developed an itch to start a new hobby. Journal entry-ing, if there was ever such a thing.

Today marked the eighth month since I’d officially started this baby-carrying journey and five months since my journal entry hobby, and it had been wholesome. I wrote mostly about our baby’s development, my constant mood swings, and uncontrollable sexual urges.

And my husband.

He didn’t even realize it, but he was the number one star on my headlines, and the great part was that I had the liberty to express myself, to say every single thing without shame or fear of what he’d think. The not-so-great part?

I didn’t want to scare him away.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Timur was not a sharer, and while I felt ecstatic about the discovery of my love for him, I knew the depths of his pasts. At least enough to know that he might not have the capacity to love me back. His trauma had made him reject affection while growing up. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face that rejection.

So, opening up to him was not an option.

I sat on the couch, my swollen feet propped up on a pillow, one hand resting on my belly as I picked up my phone and scrolled through. It was another thing on my checklist.

Journal entry ?

Shop for baby clothes online ?

Wait up for my husband to come home….

Have mind-blowing sex….

Blushing, I scrolled away from my mobile to-do list app and went instead to check picture samples of baby clothes on Pinterest. More recently, my audacity scared me when it came to going under the covers with Timur. Timur made curt comments about it, too; he’d noticed it and liked it.

The baby kicked a strong nudge against my ribs that made me pause and smile. “You’re restless today, aren’t you?” I murmured, rubbing the spot gently. “Missing your daddy? I am, too.”

The screen glowed with images of tiny onesies and soft blankets. I’d been doing this almost every day lately: searching for the perfect outfits, the coziest swaddles, the cutest little hats. It wasn’t just shopping; it was a way to distract myself from the weight of waiting.

I stopped on a set of pastel-colored rompers, each one embroidered with tiny animals—bears, ducks, and elephants. They were impossibly small, and I couldn’t help but wonder how something so delicate would soon be filled by the little life growing inside me.

The thought brought a lump to my throat. The day was approaching so fast, yet somehow, it still felt like an eternity away. I pressed my hand to my belly, feeling the steady rhythm of movement beneath my palm. Every kick, every twist, reminded me that soon, everything would change.

Soon, I’d become a mother.

My baby kicked again, harder this time, and I winced. “Alright, I get it. You’re not a fan of the elephants?” I teased softly, as if my tiny one could hear me.

I added the romper set to my cart anyway, along with a soft gray blanket with stars printed on it. Thinking about how fragile this all felt—the anticipation, the hope, the love that had already filled me so completely—my heart ached a little.

I shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but comfort was a distant memory at this point. My back ached, my feet were swollen, and my ribs felt like they were under siege. Still, none of it mattered, not really. Every ache and pain was just a reminder that I was carrying the most important thing in the world.

I set my phone down and leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. I let my thoughts drift, imagining what life would be like soon—tiny cries in the middle of the night, little hands gripping my finger, a whole new world that I couldn’t wait to meet.

I smiled, resting both hands on my belly. “I can’t wait to meet you, either,” I whispered.

Then sharp pain gripped me so suddenly that I gasped, clutching at my stomach as though holding it would somehow stop the ache.

It didn’t.

It tore through me again, hot and relentless, and my knees grew weak. Dropping my phone, I gripped the couch, my breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

This wasn’t normal.

My heart pounded, and Doctor Maria’s voice resurfaced somewhere at the back of my head. It hit me. I was not just uncomfortable, or tired, or anything else I’ve been dismissing these past few weeks. This was different.

Another wave of pain shot through me, and I let out a low, involuntary cry.

“Serena?” Klavdia’s voice cut through the haze.

Klavdia, thank goodness.

Breathing rapidly, I managed to call out. “Klavdia? I’m… phew… in here!”

She appeared in the living room, her usual stern expression shifting to something close to concern when she saw me hunched over, gripping the couch like it was the only thing keeping me sane.

“I think—” My words were cut off by another stab of pain, and I gasped again. Tears were quickly forming, and all I could think about was my baby. “I think something’s wrong.”

She crossed the room in two quick strides, her no-nonsense demeanor kicking in as she dropped to her haunches. Her eyes dropped to my belly and then back to my face.

“Wrong?” she said sharply, her tone almost scolding. “Serena. This is labor.”

Labor .

Love.

The labor of my love for both my child and its father.

The word felt instantly unreal, like it didn’t belong to me, to this moment. But then another contraction hit, and the truth of it slammed into me like a freight train.

“I-I’m not ready,” I stammered, panic bubbling up in my chest. My hands shook as I clung to her arm, desperate for some kind of anchor. “It’s too soon. It’s not supposed to happen yet. Today is….”

Klavdia’s grip tightened, grounding me in a way that was both comforting and infuriating. “Listen to me: Babies don’t care about your schedule. We don’t have time for you to panic.”

I groaned as another contraction tore through me. Tears rolled down my cheeks, blurring my vision, but I blinked them away.

“What do we do?” I asked, ignoring the tremble in my voice. “Klavdia, what if something goes wrong? Timur isn’t here—”

She cut me off with a sharp look. “Stop that nonsense. You’re strong. You can do this. And I’ll make sure everything’s ready before he gets to the hospital.”

Her calm was maddening, but it was also what I needed.

Nodding, I swallowed hard and focused on breathing through the pain. Klavdia moved with practiced efficiency, barking orders at someone I could barely see as she grabbed my phone and journal.

As another contraction built, I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the couch cushions like they were my lifeline. The pain was overwhelming, but somewhere beneath it was a flicker of something else—a mixture of fear and hope and the strange, surreal knowledge that this was it.

The moment I’d spent the last eight months preparing for.

It’s happening.