44. Harper
HARPER
Pushing is nothing like anyone actually prepares you for: effort that empties everything else in the world until there’s only this- Viktor’s hand locked in mine, the doctor’s steady count, my own body doing something I didn’t know it was capable of doing.
“You’re doing so well,” Viktor murmurs against my temple, voice rough with his own exhaustion after hours of matching mine. “Almost there. I can see him.”
“Him?”
“Her. Whichever. I don’t actually know; I just needed you to hear something encouraging.”
I laugh, half sob, half genuine amusement even through the pain, and push again, and again, every ounce of strength I have left funneled into this single, overwhelming effort, the world narrowing down to nothing but Viktor’s voice and my own heartbeat and the doctor’s steady count guiding me through it.
Then, all at once, a sound fills the room that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, a thin, furious wail, indignant at having been asked to exist in the world at all, and something in my chest breaks open completely.
“He’s here,” the doctor says, lifting him, and I catch a glimpse of him before they even finish, small and red and completely perfect. “A healthy baby boy.”
“A boy.” Viktor’s voice cracks entirely, all composure gone. “Harper, we have a son.”
I start crying the moment the words actually land, relief and joy tangled together after months of fear I’d almost forgotten how to set down.
After the scare tonight, after everything leading up to it, hearing the word healthy attached to my son feels like the single greatest sentence anyone’s ever said to me.
They place him on my chest a moment later, warm and impossibly small, and I look down at him and feel something settle into place that I don’t think I ever fully knew was missing until exactly this moment.
“Hi,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Hi, baby. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Viktor leans over both of us, one hand resting against the baby’s back, the other still holding mine, and I watch him take in his son for the first time, tears he doesn’t bother hiding at all.
“He’s perfect,” Viktor says. “Absolutely perfect.”
“He’s got your nose.”
“Poor child.”
I laugh again, exhausted and overwhelmed and happier than I’ve felt in longer than I can remember, and we stay like that a while, just the three of us, before the nurses gently take him to be checked and cleaned, promising to bring him right back.
By the time Viktor lets Ginger and Dimitri into the room, I’m sitting up, exhausted but steady, our son back in my arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket that somehow already looks like it belongs to him.
Ginger bursts through the door fully awake at three in the morning, can manage, Mrs. Bennett having apparently driven her over the second Viktor’s call came through, still in her pajamas, one shoe missing entirely.
“Is it here? Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy,” I tell her, and her whole face lights up.
“Can I see him? Can I hold him?”
“Come here, gently.”
She climbs onto the edge of the bed with real care, and I shift the baby so she can see his face properly, and she stares down at him with total, silent wonder, all her usual chatter momentarily gone.
“He’s so small,” she whispers.
“You were this small once too.”
“I don’t believe that.” She reaches out one gentle finger, letting the baby’s tiny hand close around it, her whole face softening into pure, uncomplicated love. “Hi. I’m Ginger. I’m your big sister.”
Dimitri hangs back near the doorway, giving the moment space, though I catch him wiping at his eyes when he thinks nobody’s watching, tie loosened, looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, like he came straight from wherever he’d been the second Viktor called.
“Come meet him properly,” I tell him, and he crosses the room slowly, careful in a way I’ve never quite seen from him before.
“He’s beautiful, Harper.” Dimitri’s voice is thick with something he’s clearly trying to keep controlled. “You did good. Both of you.”
“Thank you for everything,” I tell him, meaning far more than tonight alone. “For all of it. I don’t think we’d be standing here without you.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me tonight, Harper. I haven’t slept, and my composure is fragile.” But he says it with a small, real smile, and rests one hand gently against the baby’s back before stepping away.
“We haven’t picked a name yet,” Viktor says, looking between all of us. “We had a few ideas, but nothing that felt entirely right until we actually met him.”
“I have an idea,” Ginger announces immediately, still watching the baby with rapt attention.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Dragon.”
Viktor chokes on a laugh, and I press my lips together, trying not to fully dissolve into laughter myself given how seriously she’s proposed it.
“That’s a wonderful nickname for later,” I tell her gently. “But maybe not his actual name. Judges and teachers might have questions.”
“Fine.” She considers this with visible disappointment, brow furrowed in real concentration, then brightens almost immediately. “What about Drake, then? It still means dragon. I looked it up on Mrs. Bennett’s tablet.”
“You looked up dragon names in preparation for this,” Dimitri says, clearly delighted. “That’s either the most impressive or most concerning six-year-old planning I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Both,” Ginger says, entirely unbothered by the distinction.
“She gets that focus from her aunt,” Viktor says, watching me with visible affection. “Once Harper decides something matters, there’s no talking her out of it either.”
“I resent that comparison being used against me while I’m holding a newborn.”
“It’s a compliment. I promise.”
Viktor and I exchange a glance, warmth passing between us at the suggestion, unexpectedly perfect in a way neither of us anticipated from a six-year-old’s persistence.
“Drake,” Viktor repeats, testing the sound of it. “I actually like that. It’s strong. Distinctive.”
“As a middle name,” I add. “What do you think? Alexander Drake?”
“Alexander Drake Markov,” Viktor says, the whole name slowly, like he’s committing it permanently to memory. “I think that’s exactly right.”
Ginger beams, thoroughly satisfied with herself, already announcing to Dimitri that she personally named the baby, a claim he doesn’t bother disputing.
I look around the room, at Viktor holding his son’s tiny hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched, at Ginger curled against my side studying her new brother with fierce, protective attention, at Dimitri standing close enough to be part of this family without ever needing to be asked.
Something settles fully into place in my chest, complete in a way I don’t think I’ve felt since before Mia died.
We survived everything that tried to take this from us. The custody case, Pavel, the hangar, months of secrets, silence, and fear. And here we are anyway, whole, together, safe, welcoming a new life into a family that fought this hard to keep every single piece of itself intact.
“Welcome to the family, Alexander,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead. “You have no idea how hard everyone worked to get you here safely.”