Chapter Twenty-Six - Makar
The bedroom is quiet except for the faint rustle of sheets as Hannah shifts beside me. The lamp on the nightstand casts a soft, golden glow over her face, and I find myself watching her, the faint curve of her smile as she stares up at the ceiling.
She looks peaceful tonight—more relaxed than I’ve seen her in days. It’s a rare moment, and I can’t help but savor it.
It’s rare for me to feel this comfortable, this… at ease with someone. Yet, lying here with her feels natural in a way I can’t explain.
Hannah shifts again, her hands brushing over her belly. “He’s been quiet tonight,” she says softly, her tone tinged with curiosity.
“Still convinced it’s a boy?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Just a feeling,” she replies with a shrug. “I could be wrong. Either way, I can’t wait to meet them.”
The genuine excitement in her voice stirs something in me, a warmth I’m not entirely used to.
Suddenly, her hand freezes, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh!”
“What?” I ask, sitting up slightly, my gaze narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head quickly, her smile growing. “Nothing’s wrong. He just kicked.”
“Kicked?” I repeat, unsure why the word catches me so off guard.
“Here,” she says, grabbing my hand and guiding it to her belly. “Feel that.”
I hesitate, my palm resting against the curve of her stomach. For a moment, there’s nothing. Then, the faintest nudge beneath my hand.
I freeze, staring down at my hand as the sensation repeats, stronger this time.
Hannah laughs softly, her eyes shining with delight. “It’s like they’re saying hello.”
For once, I don’t have a snarky remark or a calculated response. I just sit there, my hand still on her belly, overwhelmed by something I can’t quite name.
“He’s active,” I murmur, my voice quieter than usual.
“Or she is,” Hannah counters, grinning.
I glance at her, shaking my head with a faint smile. “Always arguing.”
“Always right,” she retorts playfully.
Her laughter fills the room, warm and genuine, and I can’t help but laugh with her. The baby kicks again, and she sighs happily, resting her hand over mine.
“I want this,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper.
I frown slightly, leaning closer. “What?”
“This,” she repeats, looking up at me with wide, earnest eyes. “A family. With you. Not just this baby, but… more. A real marriage. A real life. Maybe even more kids.”
Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond.
“You want more?” I ask, my voice softer now.
She nods, her smile growing. “Yeah. Someday. Maybe three more.”
“Three?” I repeat, unable to keep the surprise from my tone.
She laughs, the sound light and teasing. “What, too many for you?”
I shake my head, smirking. “I think you’re already more than enough to handle.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she says, sticking out her tongue.
“Who said I was flattering you?” I counter, raising an eyebrow.
Her laughter fills the room again, and for a moment, everything feels lighter—easier. She leans back against the pillows, her hand still resting on her belly, and I find myself watching her again.
“You’re taking to this,” I say quietly, gesturing to her belly. “Motherhood. You haven’t even had the baby yet, and you’re already… good at it.”
She looks at me, her expression softening. “It’s easy to feel that way when you love someone so much,” she says, her voice trembling slightly.
The honesty in her words stirs something deep in my chest, and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“You’re incredible.”
My lips brush against her forehead before trailing down to the curve of her belly, where I press a kiss to the taut skin. The baby moves beneath my hand, another strong kick making me smirk.
“You’re already causing trouble,” I murmur, my tone soft but teasing as I trace gentle circles over her stomach.
Then Hannah gasps sharply, her entire body tensing.
I sit up immediately, my heart lurching. “What? What’s wrong?”
She clutches the sheets, her face tightening with pain. “I—I don’t know. It feels… different. Like—oh God—like something’s starting.”
It takes me half a second to register the meaning of her words. My pulse spikes, and I grab my phone from the nightstand, dialing Andrei without hesitation.
“She’s going into labor,” I bark as soon as he picks up. “Call the hospital. Tell them she’s coming now.”
Andrei doesn’t question me, simply grunting an acknowledgment before hanging up. I turn back to Hannah, who’s gripping the edge of the mattress, her breaths shallow and fast.
“An ambulance,” I say, already dialing again.
Her eyes widen. “No, Makar, it’s fine. We can just—”
“No,” I cut her off firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re not walking out of this house. You’re not sitting in the back of some car. You’re going in an ambulance with medics, and you’ll be seen immediately.”
She hesitates, her breathing uneven as another wave of pain crosses her face. Finally, she nods, her hand reaching for mine.
The ambulance arrives within minutes, its lights casting a harsh glow over the driveway as the medics rush inside. I don’t let go of Hannah’s hand as they check her vitals, their calm professionalism doing little to ease the tight knot of fear in my chest.
“She’s stable,” one of the medics says, glancing at me. “But we need to get her to the hospital now.”
“I’m coming with her,” I say immediately, my tone brooking no argument.
The medic nods, and we’re moving. The cool night air bites at my skin as we step outside, the stretcher carrying Hannah to the waiting vehicle. I climb in after her, squeezing into the cramped space as the doors slam shut.
The ride is a blur of flashing lights and muted voices, the steady beep of monitors punctuating the silence. Hannah grips my hand tightly, her knuckles white as another contraction ripples through her.
“It’s too much,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “It’s too fast—”
“You’re strong,” I tell her, my voice steady even though my heart is racing. “You can handle this. You’re not doing it alone.”
Her gaze meets mine, tears glistening in her eyes, and I squeeze her hand again, letting her feel the strength in my grip.
When we arrive at the hospital, the medics wheel her inside, the bright fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell a jarring contrast to the quiet of the night. I bark instructions to a nurse as we enter.
“I want her usual doctor,” I say, my tone sharp. “Bring him here now.”
“Yes, Mr. Sharov,” she says quickly, hurrying away.
Hannah is taken to a private room, the sound of monitors and bustling medical staff filling the air. I don’t leave her side, my hand never straying from hers as they prepare her for delivery.
“Sir,” one of the nurses says, hesitating slightly. “Are you planning to stay in the delivery room?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.
Hannah glances at me, her expression a mix of surprise and relief.
“Makar,” she whispers, her voice weak but grateful.
“I’m not leaving,” I say firmly, leaning down so she can see the determination in my eyes. “Not for a second.”
Her lips tremble into a faint smile, and she nods, squeezing my hand.
When her doctor finally arrives, I feel a measure of relief settle over me. He nods in acknowledgment, quickly taking charge and issuing orders to the staff.
“Everything is under control,” he assures me, his voice calm. “We’ll monitor her closely. The baby is coming a little early, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
I nod, my grip on Hannah’s hand tightening.
The delivery room is a whirlwind of activity, the sterile environment buzzing with controlled urgency. I stay at Hannah’s side, my focus entirely on her as she breathes through the pain, her face pale but determined.
“You’re doing great,” I murmur, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.
She lets out a shaky laugh, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “I hate you right now.”
“I’ll remind you of that later,” I say, smirking despite the tension in my chest.
Her laugh turns into a grimace as another contraction hits, and I feel utterly helpless. I stay where I am, offering her my hand, my presence, my voice—anything to help her through this.
“You’ve got this,” I say again, my voice steady even as fear and excitement battle for dominance inside me.
As the doctor announces that it’s almost time, I realize I’ve never wanted anything more than to see our baby safely in her arms.
The delivery room falls silent, save for the sharp, joyful cry of a newborn breaking through the tension like sunlight after a storm. Hannah collapses back against the bed, her chest heaving as tears streak her face. My grip tightens on her hand, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to breathe.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, his voice calm and reassuring.
A boy. My son.
The words don’t seem real as one of the nurses cleans him up, wrapping him in a soft blanket. He’s small—so much smaller than I expected—but the moment they place him in my arms, I feel the weight of him, warm and alive, and everything inside me shifts.
“Hello, Anatoly,” I murmur, the name slipping from my lips before I even realize it.
He stirs at the sound of my voice, his tiny hands curling into fists as his cries settle into soft whimpers. My chest tightens, and I glance at Hannah, whose exhausted smile somehow radiates more strength than I’ve ever seen.
“You did it,” I say quietly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You’re incredible.”
She laughs softly, her voice weak but full of emotion. “ We did it.”
The nurses work efficiently, tending to Hannah and ensuring she’s comfortable while I hold our son. Her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking her, and I take a seat beside the bed, cradling Anatoly close.
***
An hour passes, maybe more, and I haven’t moved. Anatoly sleeps peacefully in my arms, his small breaths rhythmic and steady. I stare down at him, memorizing every detail—his tiny fingers, the soft curve of his cheek, the way he fits so perfectly against me.
Hannah stirs, and my gaze shifts to her as her eyes blink open.
“Makar?” she murmurs, her voice raspy from fatigue.
“I’m here,” I say softly, setting Anatoly down in the bassinet beside the bed before moving to help her sit up. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” she admits, wincing slightly as she adjusts her position.
I grab the water bottle from the tray table, unscrewing the cap and holding it to her lips. “Drink,” I say gently.
She takes a few sips, her eyes meeting mine as she sets the bottle down. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod, sitting back as I retrieve Anatoly from the bassinet. “There’s someone who wants to see you.”
Her face lights up as I place him in her arms, her hands trembling slightly as she holds him close. “Hi, baby,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
Anatoly stirs, his tiny face scrunching as he lets out a soft coo. Hannah laughs, tears slipping down her cheeks as she presses a kiss to his forehead.
“He’s perfect,” she says, looking up at me with a smile that makes my chest tighten.
“He is,” I agree, sitting down beside her.
For a while, we sit in silence, simply marveling at the life we’ve created. But eventually, the weight of the moment shifts, and I see a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice steady.
Hannah glances down at Anatoly, her fingers brushing lightly over his cheek. “I’ve been thinking,” she begins, her tone cautious. “About what happens next.”
I nod slowly, waiting for her to continue.
“I’d like to stay home with him for the first year,” she says, her voice gaining strength. “To be here for him, to bond with him.”
“Of course,” I say immediately, my tone leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need to ask.”
She smiles faintly, but I can see there’s more on her mind.
“After that?” she asks hesitantly, her gaze shifting to meet mine. “Would I… would I be able to have more freedom?”
“Freedom?” I repeat, frowning slightly.
“I don’t mean anything drastic,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushing. “Just the ability to go out, to see the world a little. Maybe even finish school someday.”
I lean back, considering her words. Freedom has never been a concept I’ve been comfortable with—not for myself, not for anyone under my protection. As I look at her, holding our son with such tenderness, I realize this isn’t about control. It’s about trust.
“You can do whatever you want,” I say finally, my voice firm. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Her eyes widen slightly, as though she hadn’t expected such an easy answer. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say, leaning forward to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have, Hannah. I want you to have what you need too.”
Tears well in her eyes again, and she leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder as Anatoly sleeps peacefully in her arms.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m building something real. Something worth protecting. And as I hold both of them close, I know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.
***
Two days later, the car rolls up to the mansion’s grand entrance, its imposing facade softened in the early evening light. It feels different returning now, like the house itself has shifted to make room for the new life we’re bringing inside.
I step out first, moving to open the door for Hannah. She smiles at me, tired but radiant in a way that takes my breath away. In her arms, bundled snugly in a soft blue blanket, is Anatoly.
“Home,” she murmurs, looking up at the mansion.
“Home,” I echo, offering her a hand to help her out.
We walk up the steps together, and I glance at the guards stationed nearby, giving a brief nod to ensure everything is secure. It’s a reflex now, but as I glance at the tiny bundle in Hannah’s arms, it feels more important than ever.
Once inside, the quiet hum of the house greets us, and Vera appears from the hallway, her face lighting up when she sees Hannah and the baby.
“Welcome back,” she says warmly, her eyes softening as she looks at Anatoly.
“Thank you, Vera,” Hannah says, her voice warm but tired.
I take Hannah’s free hand, guiding her through the halls and up the stairs toward the nursery. The walk is slow, unhurried, and there’s something grounding about the way she leans on me, trusting me to lead the way.
When we step into the nursery, the soft cream walls and gentle glow of the nightlight feel like stepping into another world. Hannah moves to the crib, carefully laying Anatoly down. He stirs faintly but doesn’t wake, his tiny hands curling against his chest as he settles into the plush mattress.
We stand there for a moment, side by side, just watching him.
“He’s perfect,” Hannah whispers, her voice full of awe.
I place a hand on the small of her back, my touch light but steady. “He is,” I agree.
She turns to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without thinking, I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It’s tender at first, a quiet acknowledgment of everything we’ve been through, but when her hand reaches up to cup my cheek, it deepens.
The warmth of her mouth against mine, the way she melts into me—it’s enough to pull me under. Between us, Anatoly sleeps peacefully, a tiny buffer that keeps us grounded in the moment.
She pulls back with a soft laugh, brushing her thumb over my cheek. “We should let him rest.”
“Agreed,” I murmur, though I steal one last kiss before stepping back.
The nursery connects to our bedroom through an arched doorway, and as we step into the dimly lit space, the fatigue of the past few days starts to settle over both of us. Hannah moves to the bed, sinking onto the edge with a sigh as I loosen the collar of my shirt.
“You should rest,” I say, crossing the room to her.
She smiles up at me, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’ve been just as busy.”
“I don’t get tired,” I reply, smirking.
“Liar,” she teases, reaching for my hand.
I let her pull me closer, her fingers tracing the buttons of my shirt. “You’ve been taking care of everything,” she says softly. “You deserve a break too.”
I lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s anything but soft. It’s hungry, insistent, a release of everything I’ve been holding back. She responds immediately, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of my shirt, her touch warm against my skin.
“You’re pushing your luck,” I murmur against her lips, smirking when she laughs breathlessly.
“Maybe I am,” she replies, her voice low and teasing.
I push her back gently onto the bed, hovering over her as I let my hands explore the curves of her body. She arches beneath me, her laughter fading into a soft sigh that sends heat coursing through me.
As much as I want to lose myself in her, I’m acutely aware of the exhaustion in her movements, the way her body still hasn’t fully recovered. I pull back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“You’re tired,” I say, my voice softer now.
Her lips curve into a faint smile. “A little,” she admits.
“We’ll pick this up later,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her laughter returns, light and warm. “You always know how to ruin the moment.”
I chuckle, settling beside her on the bed and pulling her into my arms. “Get some rest,” I murmur, my hand trailing lightly over her back.
The baby monitor sits on the nightstand, its soft hum a constant reminder of the life we’ve brought into this house. Anatoly’s quiet breaths filter through, steady and soothing, as Hannah’s head rests against my chest.
“You’re listening for him, aren’t you?” she asks sleepily, her voice muffled against my shirt.
“Maybe a little bit,” I reply.
She shifts slightly, her hand resting over my heart. “He’s safe. We’re all safe.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, letting her words settle over me like a balm. As her breathing evens out, I find myself staring at the monitor, the faint sounds of our son lulling me into a rare, peaceful calm.
For the first time in years, I let myself dream—not of power or control, but of a future built on something far more precious.