Charlotte
Time feels different now.
It used to slip through my fingers like sand. Shift after shift, day after day, nothing changing except the beds I made and the stains I scrubbed out of carpets too plush to belong to real people.
But now, every morning has purpose. Every afternoon has possibility. Every flutter low in my abdomen feels like a secret being whispered into my bones.
I sink back into the cushions of the sitting room sofa, one hand wrapped around a mug of mint tea, the other curled protectively over the curve of my belly.
Vitali’s child.
Our child.
I still can’t fully comprehend it.
The house feels too big today. Too quiet.
Too… not-him. He had to leave suddenly, a call from Yury, something about shipments and territories that needed in-person attention.
He didn’t want to go. I saw the way his jaw clenched when he told me.
How his hand lingered at the small of my back like he was checking he could still reach me.
He promised he’d be back by tonight.
I keep checking the clock.
I hate that I miss him. I hate how much.
I’ve been reading the pregnancy book he left on the bedside table with his underlined paragraphs, little sticky notes marking chapters about symptoms and nutrition. He pretends this arrangement is clinical, but his actions betray him constantly.
And each one wraps another thread around my heart.
I set my tea aside and stand. I need company. I need someone who understands this strange new world where care comes in the shape of morning vitamins and a man who reads parenting manuals at 3 a.m.
When I reach the main wing, I follow the soft hum of a lullaby.
Sophia’s voice. Warm, sure and full of love.
I pause at the doorway to the nursery.
She’s sitting in a rocking chair, her dressing gown slipping to reveal the slope of her shoulder, hair in a messy knot that still looks like a crown. Her newborn is cradled to her chest, nursing contentedly. She looks tired but unbreakably happy.
I feel something tug hard and deep inside me.
She notices me and beams. “Come in, Charlotte.”
I step forward slowly, as if afraid to disturb the peace in this room.
“How far along now?” she asks, eyes dipping fondly to my bump.
“Six months,” I say. My voice sounds shy, almost guilty.
“You’re glowing with it,” she says with a soft laugh.
I sink into the chair beside hers. The nursery is all soft grays and muted golds, stars painted on the walls like tiny promises. I want to memorise this room. Hold onto it for later.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
I nod. Then shake my head. Then laugh at myself. “Somewhere in the middle.”
Sophia gives me that look, the knowing kind. The one that doesn’t need words to understand.
“You miss him,” she says simply.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “When he’s here, the world feels… quieter somehow. But when he’s gone…” I shrug helplessly. “I start overthinking everything.”
Sophia shifts the baby to her other arm and sighs. “I get that. When Yury leaves, even for a day, the walls feel too big. Too empty. It’s like part of the house goes with him.”
I stare at my hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this for me.”
“No?” she asks gently.
I swallow.
“It’s a contract,” I say. “A year and some months. That was the deal. I give him a child and… then I go.”
Sophia watches me carefully. “Do you want to go?”
The question pierces me. Sharp and frightening.
I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes out.
Instead, tears prick hot behind my eyes.
Sophia reaches for my hand. “It’s okay to want more than what you agreed to when you were scared and the world looked different.”
“I don’t know what I want,” I lie.
“You do,” she says. “You’re just afraid to say it.”
My voice cracks. “He doesn’t want love. I don’t think he even believes in it. He wants legacy, control, order. I’m just… part of that plan.”
Sophia’s smile softens. “Men like Vitali don’t do anything halfway. When they fall… they fall like molten rock.”
I twist the hem of my sleeve between nervous fingers. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll still have a child to love.” She squeezes my hand. “And a degree to earn. And a future that’s yours to shape.”
I look at her, envy and admiration coiling inside me like smoke.
“You’re not alone anymore, Charlotte,” she whispers. “No matter what. Not even if that contract says so. Once you become a mom, everything changes.”
And for the first time today, my breathing feels easier.
The baby kicks, a small flutter, more like a tickle than anything.
I press my hand to that tiny movement, awed all over again.
Sophia notices and beams. “See? Someone else doesn’t want you worrying either.”
A warm laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
I want this feeling forever. I want Vitali to be here when the baby kicks again. I want him to hold me when the nights get heavy. I want to stay in his arms long after the six-month weaning clause in our contract.
I want impossible things.
I exhale a shaky breath and whisper the truth aloud for the first time:
“I don’t want this to end.”
“Then tell him that,” she says simply. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.