Page 22

Ivan

The sterile scent of the hospital fills my nostrils as I sit beside Sarah, cradling our newborn daughter in my arms. The world outside these walls feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this room, there’s only us—Sarah, our daughter, and the overwhelming sense of something new and fragile taking root in my chest.

Sarah lies back on the bed, exhausted but glowing in a way I’ve never seen before. She’s watching me with tired eyes, a small, contented smile playing on her lips as she takes in the sight of me holding our child. Her hair is damp, sticking to her forehead, but she’s never looked more beautiful.

I glance down at the tiny bundle in my arms. The baby’s eyes are closed, her little face scrunched up as she sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the world around her. Her skin is soft, and her tiny fingers curl around my thumb, gripping it with surprising strength.

“She’s perfect,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s a strange feeling, this mix of awe and protectiveness. I never thought I’d care this much, never imagined I’d feel this way about anyone—especially not a child. Yet here she is, my daughter, and the depth of what I feel for her is overwhelming.

Sarah shifts slightly on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at the baby. “She is,” she agrees, her voice soft and full of wonder. “She has your eyes.”

I glance at the baby again, noting the dark lashes resting against her cheeks, green of her irises when she briefly opens them. “Your hair,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She’s a good mix of both of us.”

Sarah chuckles, the sound light and airy despite her exhaustion. “I think she’s got your stubbornness too. She didn’t want to come out without a fight.”

I let out a low laugh, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. “She’ll need that,” I say, my tone more serious now. “In this world, she’ll need to be strong.”

Sarah’s smile fades slightly, a shadow passing over her expression as she reaches out to touch our daughter’s cheek. “She will be,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “We’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, we’re both silent, just watching the baby in my arms, absorbing the reality of what’s just happened. Then I feel a tug in my chest, something deep and unfamiliar—a connection to this woman, this mother of my child, that goes beyond anything I’ve felt before.

I look at Sarah, really look at her, and realize that she’s become more important to me than I ever intended. She’s not just the mother of my child, not just my wife. She’s someone I care about, someone who matters in a way I can’t fully explain.

“Sarah,” I start, my voice uncharacteristically hesitant. I don’t even know what I want to say, what I’m trying to express. There’s a question that’s been gnawing at me for months, one I’ve tried to ignore but can’t seem to shake.

Why do I care so much?

She turns her head slightly, meeting my gaze, her tired eyes searching mine as if she can sense the turmoil in me. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, something that’s grown over time, and for once, I find myself at a loss for words.

Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door—a soft, almost hesitant sound that cuts through the quiet of the room. I glance at Sarah, seeing the question in her eyes before turning my attention to the door. Who could be visiting us now, at this moment?

I place the baby gently in Sarah’s arms, giving her a reassuring nod before standing and heading toward the door. My mind races with possibilities, but nothing could have prepared me for what—or who—might be waiting on the other side.

I open the door to find Sophia standing there, her expression a mix of uncertainty and something else—something softer. She’s dressed simply, her hands clasped in front of her as if she’s not quite sure what to do next. The resemblance between her and Sarah strikes me all over again, even more so now, in this quiet, unexpected moment.

Sophia doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even try to step inside. She just stands there, waiting, her eyes flickering past me to where Sarah is lying on the bed, holding our daughter. The tension that usually accompanies her presence is absent, replaced by a tentative air of vulnerability that’s almost jarring.

I glance back at Sarah, who meets my eyes before shifting her gaze to Sophia. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, but then she gives a small nod, her expression softening. “Sophia… come in,” she says gently, her voice carrying the warmth of a long-lost sister rather than the edge of someone who’s been betrayed.

Sophia takes a step inside, her movements slow and careful, as if she’s afraid of intruding. Her eyes go straight to the baby in Sarah’s arms, and for a moment, something like awe crosses her face. “She’s beautiful,” Sophia says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “She looks just like you.”

Sarah smiles, a touch of pride in her expression as she cradles the baby closer. “Thank you, Sophia.”

Sophia takes a few more steps into the room, her gaze fixed on the baby, but there’s something else in her eyes—an emotion I can’t quite place. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but she holds herself together, drawing closer to Sarah and the baby.

When she reaches the bedside, she hesitates again, her hand hovering, as if she’s not sure whether she should touch the baby or not. Sarah, sensing her hesitation, shifts slightly, allowing Sophia to lean in closer. Sophia reaches out, gently brushing her fingers over the baby’s soft cheek, and the tenderness in her touch is palpable.

“She’s so perfect,” Sophia says, her voice trembling with emotion. She pulls back slightly, her gaze shifting to Sarah’s face. “I had to come… I couldn’t stay away. I just… I needed to see you, to make sure you were okay. To congratulate you.”

There’s a silence that hangs between them, heavy with all the things left unsaid, all the hurt and confusion that has passed between them. None of that seems to matter. It’s just the two of them, connected by something deeper than blood, something that goes beyond the complications of their past.

Sophia’s eyes well with tears as she looks at Sarah, and I can see the depth of her emotions—the regret, the longing for the sisterly bond they once shared. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I didn’t know… I didn’t understand what you were going through.”

Sarah’s eyes soften, and she reaches out with her free hand, taking Sophia’s in hers. “I’m sorry too, Sophia,” she says quietly. “I never wanted to hurt you. I had to make impossible choices, but that doesn’t change how much you mean to me.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I’m unsure how Sophia will respond. But then, without another word, she leans down, wrapping her arms around Sarah in a gentle hug. Sarah hugs her back, holding her close, and I can see the tears in both their eyes. It’s a tender, fragile moment, one that feels like a long-overdue reconciliation.

Despite the years of distance, the betrayal, and the pain, it’s clear that the bond between them hasn’t been broken completely. There’s still something there, something real and strong, and I can see it in the way they cling to each other, their breaths shaky with unspoken words.

I stand back, watching the scene unfold, a mix of skepticism and reluctant acceptance churning in my gut. I don’t trust easily, and Sophia’s sudden appearance here sets off warning bells in my mind. As I watch Sarah’s face—her happiness, her relief—I know this moment is important to her. Right now, she’s all that matters.

Sophia finally pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand as she offers Sarah a watery smile. “I’ll leave you to rest,” she says, her voice still shaky. “I just… I’m glad I got to see you. Glad I got to meet her.”

Sarah smiles back, her grip on Sophia’s hand lingering for a moment longer before she lets go. “Thank you for coming, Sophia. It means a lot.”

Sophia nods, and after one last, lingering look at the baby, she turns to leave. Before she does, she glances at me, her expression unreadable. There’s something in her eyes that gives me pause—maybe it’s a silent acknowledgment of the role I now play in Sarah’s life, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything we’ve all been through. Either way, she doesn’t say anything, simply nodding before she steps out of the room.

As the door closes behind Sophia, the room is engulfed in a heavy silence. I can’t shake the unease that lingers after her visit, the way she looked at me before she left. It was as if she was trying to convey something, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I turn back to Sarah, who’s now gently rocking our daughter, her expression soft and thoughtful.

I cross the room, my footsteps slow and deliberate as I approach the bed. “I don’t like that she came here,” I say, my voice low, the tension clear in my tone. “Especially without warning.”

Sarah glances up at me, the weariness in her eyes deepening. She looks exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally too, and I can see that the visit has taken a toll on her. “Ivan,” she murmurs, her voice laced with fatigue, “I’m too tired to argue about this right now.”

I hesitate, the words on the tip of my tongue, but one look at her—at the way she cradles our daughter, at the shadows under her eyes—makes me pause. This isn’t the time for a confrontation, not after everything she’s been through today.

“She’s trying, you know,” Sarah continues, her voice softening. “She came here to see me, to meet our daughter, to make things right. That should count for something.”

I know she’s right, at least in part. Sophia showing up here might be a step toward reconciliation, toward putting the past behind us. I can’t shake the instinct to protect, to keep our family safe from anything and anyone that could be a threat. It’s not in my nature to let my guard down, not even for someone Sarah once considered a sister.

“Maybe,” I concede, though my tone remains guarded. “That doesn’t mean I trust her.”

Sarah sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly as she shifts the baby in her arms. “I’m not asking you to trust her, Ivan. I’m just asking you to give her a chance. She’s lost too—trying to find her place after everything that’s happened. We both are.”

Her words tug at something deep inside me, a place I’ve kept locked away for years. I reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her soft skin. “I don’t want anything to hurt you,” I say quietly, the admission coming out rougher than I intended. “Or our daughter.”

Sarah looks up at me, her expression softening as she leans into my touch. “I know you don’t. And that’s why I trust you, Ivan. I trust that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe. Sometimes… sometimes people need to be given the benefit of the doubt.”

I nod slowly, though the unease in my chest doesn’t fully dissipate. “I’ll consider it,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. “For you.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she leans back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I watch her for a long moment, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions I’m still trying to understand. For Sarah, I’ll do anything, even if it means letting my guard down—just a little. But one thing is certain: I’ll never stop protecting her, and I’ll never let anyone or anything come between us.

As I stand there, watching the two most important people in my life, I feel a sense of clarity settle over me. No matter what comes next, I know where I stand. For now, that’s enough.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sarah

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as I slowly wake up. My hand instinctively reaches for the space beside me, only to find it empty. Ivan is already gone. I can’t help the small pang of disappointment that settles in my chest. I’ve started to dislike his absence more and more each day, and I know it’s not a good thing. The growing attachment I feel for him isn’t something I can afford, not in this world, not with the life we lead.

How can I stop it? How can I stop these feelings that have only intensified since our daughter was born? He’s the father of my child, the man who holds my life in his hands, and against all odds, I’ve come to care for him. Deeply. It’s terrifying.

I push the thoughts aside and sit up, running a hand through my hair as I try to shake off the remnants of sleep. My gaze drifts to the crib on the other side of the room, and a small smile tugs at my lips. I throw the covers off and pad over to the crib, my heart swelling as I look down at my daughter.

She’s awake, her tiny hands waving in the air as she looks up at me with those wide, curious eyes. The same green as her father’s, the same intensity in her gaze even at this young age. I reach down and gently scoop her up, cradling her against my chest as I press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, my little love,” I whisper, my voice filled with warmth as I rock her gently in my arms. She coos softly, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if she never wants to let go. The connection I feel with her is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—pure, unbreakable, and fiercely protective.

I carry her over to the rocking chair by the window and sit down, settling her in my lap as I run my fingers through the soft tufts of her hair. “You’re growing so fast,” I murmur, marveling at the tiny miracle in my arms. “Just a few weeks old, and you’re already changing every day.”

She responds with a gurgle, her little face scrunching up in what I can only describe as a baby smile. It’s moments like these that make everything worth it—the chaos, the uncertainty, the danger that comes with being tied to Ivan and the world he’s entrenched in. I’ve never known love like this, and I know that I’ll do anything to keep her safe, to give her the life I never had.

I’m lost in the moment, completely absorbed in my daughter, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance over, my brow furrowing as I see a message from an unknown number. Carefully, I reach for the phone, holding it at an angle so I can still keep an eye on my baby as I open the message.

It’s a voice message.

My heart skips a beat, a sense of unease creeping in as I hesitantly press play. The moment the voice comes through the speaker, I freeze.

“Sarah, it’s me… it’s your mother.”

Her voice is older, worn down by time, but there’s no mistaking it. The familiar cadence, the way she says my name—it’s all so painfully familiar, and it takes me back to a place I’ve tried to forget. I haven’t heard her voice since I was sixteen, since the day she walked out of our lives and left me to raise my brother alone. A flood of emotions crashes over me—anger, sorrow, confusion—each one hitting me with the force of a wave.

“Sarah… I need to see you,” her voice continues, laced with something almost desperate. “I miss you. I know I haven’t been there for you, but I want to make things right. Please, let’s meet. I just want to talk.”

I stare at the phone, my breath catching in my throat as the message ends. For a moment, I can’t move, can’t think. The sound of her voice, the words she’s saying, feel like a knife twisting in an old wound that never quite healed. She left us. She left me when I needed her most, when I was just a child forced to grow up too fast. And now she wants to talk? Now she misses me?

I glance down at my daughter, who is still nestled against me, completely unaware of the turmoil raging inside me. I want to protect her from all of this, from the pain of the past that I’ve tried so hard to bury. But here it is, resurfacing just when I thought I could move on.

A part of me wants to delete the message, to pretend I never heard it. Another part—a deeper, more wounded part— wants answers. Why now? What does she want? Is she really trying to make amends, or is this just another way for her to hurt me?

I don’t know what to do, and the uncertainty gnaws at me. I could tell Ivan, but what would he say? Would he understand, or would he see it as just another complication in an already complicated life?

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. I can’t afford to be weak, not now. I have to be strong for my daughter, for the life I’m trying to build for us.

With trembling fingers, I set the phone down on the nightstand, my mind racing. I don’t know what the right decision is, but I know I need to think carefully. My past is something I’ve tried to leave behind, but maybe it’s not so easy to outrun.

***

The old house is exactly as I remember it—a place frozen in time, steeped in memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. The creaking floorboards, the peeling wallpaper, the faint scent of dust and neglect hanging in the air—it all rushes back to me the moment I step inside. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of anxiety and dread twisting in my gut. I haven’t been here in years, not since everything fell apart. And now, as I stand in the doorway, the weight of the past feels suffocating.

My mother is there, standing in the dimly lit living room, her face etched with lines of worry and regret. The moment she sees me, her eyes well with tears, and she takes a shaky step forward, her arms outstretched. “Sarah,” she breathes, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh, Sarah, my baby….”

She moves to hug me, but I step back, holding up a hand to stop her. The distance between us feels like a chasm, and I can’t bring myself to close it. “Don’t,” I say, my voice sharp and cold. “Don’t pretend like everything is okay.”

Her face crumples, and she lowers her arms, looking more fragile than I’ve ever seen her. “I did what I had to do, Sarah,” she says, her voice trembling. “I was helpless. I didn’t have any money, no way to feed you and Luke. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you just left us?” I snap, the anger bubbling up inside me. It’s been years, but the pain is still raw, still as fresh as the day she walked out and never looked back. “You abandoned us, Mom! You left me to take care of Luke, to figure out how to survive on my own. How could you do that?”

Tears spill down her cheeks, but they do nothing to soften my heart. “I was desperate, Sarah,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I didn’t have a choice. I thought you’d be better off without me.”

I shake my head, disgusted by her excuses. Now that I’m a mother myself, I can’t even begin to understand how she could have made that choice. The very thought of leaving my daughter, of abandoning her to face the world alone, is unthinkable. “Better off without you?” I echo, my voice rising with disbelief. “Do you know what it was like, trying to take care of Luke? Do you know what it felt like, knowing that you were out there somewhere, but you didn’t care enough to come back?”

She flinches at my words, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her guilt is too much to bear. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I was just so lost. I didn’t know how to be a mother. I didn’t know how to do anything.”

“What about Luke?” I demand, my voice cold. “Did you think about him at all? Did you think about how he needed you when he got sick? When he needed a liver transplant and we couldn’t afford it, did you think about him then?”

She doesn’t answer, her silence speaking volumes. I can see the shame in her eyes, the regret that she can’t seem to put into words. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. Then I notice something on the table—a check, casually lying there as if it’s nothing, but the sight of it sends a jolt of suspicion through me.

“What’s this?” I ask, my tone sharp as I step closer to the table, my eyes narrowing at the check. It’s made out for a significant amount of money, far more than I would ever have expected her to have.

My mother hesitates, glancing nervously between me and the check. “Sarah, please, just forgive me for this,” she says, her voice shaking.

She doesn’t answer directly, and instead, she moves toward the door, her movements hurried and desperate. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I really am. I can’t stay. I have to go.”

Before I can process what’s happening, she grabs the check and slips out of the house, leaving me standing there, stunned. My heart sinks as the realization dawns on me. She hasn’t changed. She came here not because she wanted to make amends, but because she was paid to do so.

The sound of footsteps behind me pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn around to see Leo stepping out from the shadows, his expression unreadable. The sight of him sends a wave of nausea through me, and I take a step back, the pieces of this twisted puzzle falling into place.

“You paid her,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, the horror of it all crashing down on me. “You paid her to bring me here.”

Leo’s eyes darken, and he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly menacing. “I had to see you, Sarah. It’s the only way I could get you alone.”

My chest tightens with panic, and I try to move toward the door, but it’s locked. I’m trapped. “Let me go, Leo,” I say, my voice trembling as I back away from him. “This isn’t going to work. We have no future. I don’t love you anymore.”

His face twists with anger, and in a flash, he closes the distance between us, grabbing my arm and pulling me close. His grip is tight, almost painful, and his eyes bore into mine with an intensity that frightens me. “I don’t care,” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll take you one way or another, Sarah. If I can’t have you, no one else will.”

Panic surges through me, and I struggle against his hold, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. “Leo, please, don’t do this,” I plead, my voice shaking as I try to pull away. “Let me go. You don’t want to do this.”

His grip tightens, and his expression becomes desperate, almost crazed. “I love you, Sarah,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’ve always loved you. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand that we’re meant to be together?”

Tears sting my eyes as I realize just how far gone he is, how dangerous this situation has become. My mind races, searching for a way out, for something—anything—that can help me escape. The door is locked, and I’m trapped in here with a man who has nothing left to lose.

“Leo,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, trying to reach the part of him that’s still rational. “This isn’t the way. You need to let me go. You need to leave before it’s too late.”

There’s no reasoning with him now. He’s too far gone, too consumed by his obsession. As he pulls me closer, his breath hot against my ear, I realize with chilling clarity that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep me here, with him.

The door remains locked, and my heart pounds with a fear I’ve never known before.