Chapter 35 Sima
SIMA
The bright hospital lights sting my eyes.
Nurses move fast around me. Machines beep somewhere near my head. My whole body feels like it’s being squished between two giant palms.
Luka stays beside me in the delivery room. If I were lucid enough, I’d tell him to go. What’s about to happen to my lower regions is going to fill his nightmares for the rest of his life.
But I don’t tell him to go. And when his hand grips mine so tight it almost hurts, I don’t tell him to stop, either. I need to feel something solid.
“It’s too soon,” I whisper. “She’s not supposed to come yet.”
“The doctors are here,” Luka says. “They know what they’re doing.”
“But what if something’s wrong? What if the fall hurt her? What if she can’t breathe or her heart—”
“Hey.” Luka’s voice cuts through my panic. “Don’t go there. She’s strong. You both are.”
I shake my head. My hair sticks to my forehead, damp with sweat. “You don’t know that. Hell, I don’t know that. I wasn’t ready; I’m not ready—”
Another contraction hits, and I bite down a groan. Luka’s hand tightens again to guide me through it. He tells me to breathe, slow and deep, like I can actually do that right now.
Not that he’d know. He doesn’t have a uterus. Or a baby who’s about to pop her really big head through a really small orifice in his body.
Between gasps, I keep talking. I can’t seem to stop.
“I was so stupid,” I mumble. “I slipped on the stairs like an idiot. I thought I was going to die. My shoulder’s killing me. I think I twisted my ankle. And now… God, what if it’s my fault? What if I did this to her?”
“It’s not your fault,” Luka says firmly. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“She’s early,” I say again, as if repeating it will somehow make it less true. “She’s not supposed to be here yet.”
He leans closer. “You’re both going to be fine. You hear me? Fine.”
I nod even though I don’t believe it. My throat burns, and my eyes sting like hell. Not the worst pain I’m having right this second, but somehow, it’s where my thoughts go.
“Don’t leave, okay? Not until he gets here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean it,” I press. “Not even if someone tells you to. Not even if Petyr yells at you later. Promise me.”
“I promise.” Luka squeezes my hand. “Just don’t let him break my nose again, alright?”
I laugh despite myself.
Then another wave of pain hits. I gasp and curl forward. My nails dig into his arm. I can feel my pulse pounding through my whole body, every beat more painful than the last.
“I can’t do this,” I choke out.
“Yes, you can,” he says. “And you will.”
I picture Petyr’s face. I wish he were here. I wish I could hate him enough not to want him here, but I can’t. Not right now.
“Tell him to hurry,” I whisper. “Please.”
Luka nods. “He’s coming. Just hang on a little longer.”
I close my eyes. I hold on.
The room has gone quieter now, but the noise in my head hasn’t. The steady beeping of the monitor follows the rhythm of my pulse. One sound for me, another for her.
A nurse finishes adjusting a strap around my belly. The screen lights up with tiny peaks that move in time with the baby’s heartbeat. I stare at it like I can telepathically command the lines to stay steady.
Dr. Agar steps in, calm and professional, like she’s done this a thousand times.
“Will she be okay?” I ask through the tears. “She’s early, right?”
“She is,” Dr. Agar says with a glance at the chart, “but not dangerously so. Almost thirty-six weeks. That’s considered term.”
I blink at her and try to make sense of it. “So she’s okay?”
“She’s okay.” The doctor smiles. “Her heart rate looks strong. Your vitals are good. Everything’s where it should be. We’ve just got an impatient little one, that’s all.”
I want to believe her. I really do. But fear still sits heavy in my chest. The memory of the fall keeps flashing in my mind. The sudden jolt, the way my stomach dropped. That sharp, horrible pain in my arm.
What if something happened that they can’t see yet? What if the next sound that monitor makes isn’t so reassuring anymore?
Luka still hasn’t left my side. He stands just outside the nurses’ way, his arms crossed, jaw tight. When the doctor leaves the room, he moves closer again.
“You heard her,” he says quietly. “She’s fine.”
I nod, but the tears come anyway. “What if she’s not?”
“She is.” His voice stays calm, like he’s willing the words into truth. “She’s tough. Takes after you.”
I laugh weakly and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “That’s not a good thing. I’ve made a lot of bad calls lately.”
“Then she’ll learn fast,” Luka says. “You’ll teach her how to get back up.”
“Too soon.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean it literally.”
I want to smile, but my throat tightens. “I just don’t want to lose her. I’ve lost too much already.”
“You’re not losing anyone tonight,” he says. “You’re bringing someone into the world. That’s all.”
I look at him through the blur of tears. “You make it sound simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
Realistically, though, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I just want my baby to be born healthy. Wouldn’t say no to this searing pain stopping, either.
I watched videos—to prepare myself, or maybe to torture myself—where birthing mothers in the delivery room kept yelling they were quitting and going home. That they couldn’t do this, didn’t want to do this anymore.
I thought it was funny. Now, I get it. If Luka wasn’t here, I’d also be trying to get up and to go home. It’s that bad.
Of course, that’d just mean I’d be giving birth on the Gubarev mansion’s hardwood floors. Anya’s worst nightmare.
Shit. Maybe I should have laid down there after all.
“Are you having witty internal monologue to distract yourself from the agony?”
“You know me so well.” I grit my teeth and swallow a scream. “Promise me we’ll be friends after this. Like, actual friends.”
Luka’s expression softens. “I’d like that. But first—”
“I know,” I groan. “Gotta pop this baby out.”
His face turns white real quick. Clearly, the implications hadn’t fully sunk until now.
“You can take a Tums if you want,” I offer. “I won’t be offended.”
Another wave of pain rolls through me. I scream this time, loud enough to rupture both Luka’s eardrums.
“Where’s Petyr?” I’m whining, but I don’t give a shit. Birth, it turns out, hurts way too fucking much to act with dignity about it. “I can’t do this without him.”
“You’re going to have to, love,” Dr. Agar says. “It’s time. You need to push.”
The room blurs with movement. More nurses hustle in and out, and the doctor’s voice keeps up a steady stream of guidance from somewhere near my feet.
I can’t catch every word, but I know what’s happening.
She’s coming. The baby’s coming.
And Petyr isn’t here.
Grief fills me for a moment. I know he’d want to be here for this. But I can’t wait anymore. Our baby needs to come now, and—
“Where the hell is my wife?”
At first, I think I’m imagining him. But then I see him: Petyr, out of breath, eyes wild, still in his jacket in the doorway.
The second I see him, the fear that’s been choking me eases just enough for me to breathe.
“Sir, you can’t be here!” a nurse says.
“Like fuck I can’t,” he snaps. “I’m her husband.”
The nurses frown at each other. “Then who’s this?”
Petyr’s eyes finally settle on Luka. He gives the tiniest wave in the world. If I wasn’t being split apart at the seams, I’d find it hilarious.
“Thank you, Luka,” Petyr says carefully. “You have five seconds to step away from my wife.”
He makes it in three.
Petyr moves to my side without a word. His hands find mine, large and warm, and I finally feel anchored to something real.
Luka catches my gaze once more, gives me a sheepish thumbs-up, and slips quietly from the room.
But I’ve only got eyes for one person right now. “You’re here,” I whisper to Petyr.
“I’m here,” he says, voice rough. He looks terrified and focused all at once. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, slow and steady. “You’re okay. She’s okay.”
Another contraction hits, sharp and deep. I squeeze his hand hard enough to make him flinch, but he doesn’t pull away. His grip only tightens.
God, I’ve needed this so much. Him.
“It’s time,” Dr. Agar says. “Push, Sima.”
All I can do is cling to Petyr’s hand. His presence fills the space around me and drowns out everything else. He leans close, his breath warm against my temple.
“Breathe,” he murmurs. “You’ve got this.”
I nod, though my vision blurs. Every muscle burns. My world narrows to the sound of his voice, the rhythm of my breathing, and the tiny heartbeat still pulsing steady on the monitor.
I push. Over and over again, in sync with Dr. Agar’s instructions. It feels like it takes forever.
Then, finally—
“There she is!” Dr. Agar calls out.
A small, sharp cry fills the room. The sound cuts through everything. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
Dr. Agar says something else I can’t quite make out, but she sounds happy. I hear clapping, soft laughter, the shuffle of movement.
Then a nurse places a tiny, wriggling bundle against my chest.
My daughter.
My gaze finds her face. She’s so small, still red in the face, but God. I’ve never seen anything so angelic.
I look up at Petyr next. Tears slip down my face. “Look. She’s here.”
His eyes lock on her like nothing else in the world exists. His hand shakes when he touches her tiny fingers.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper.
He nods, silent. His jaw works like he wants to speak but can’t. The terror that’s been wrapped around my chest finally loosens.
For the first time in months, I feel safe. Whole.
Because now, I’m with my family.