Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Lilith
The morning I was discharged, the sun was brilliant.
The doctor came for his final rounds, reviewed my test results, and ran that cold little device across my belly for what felt like forever. Finally, he took off his glasses and smiled. "Both heartbeats are strong, Mrs. Volkov—congratulations. You can go home."
Andrei stood by the bed, one hand in his pocket, face lit with joy.
The nurse removed the IV from my hand and covered the spot with flesh-toned medical tape. I pushed back the covers to get up, but before my feet touched the floor, Andrei bent down, sliding one arm behind my back and the other under my knees, lifting me clean off the bed.
"Andrei! I can walk—"
"Doctor said you need rest."
"She said rest, not that I can't walk!"
"Same thing."
He carried me out of the room, through the hospital lobby. Everyone we passed—nurses, patients' families—stared. An old woman nudged her husband. "Look at them. Reminds me of us when we were young."
Her husband raised an eyebrow, grinning. "More lovey-dovey than we ever were."
I buried my face in Andrei's chest, ears burning.
"Andrei, this is your fault. They're laughing at me!" I mumbled. "You always do this."
"Do what?"
"Never consider whether I'll be embarrassed."
"You're my wife," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm carrying my wife. Why would that embarrass you? They're jealous."
My mouth twitched. The man's shamelessness was almost impressive.
Dmitri's car waited at the entrance. Andrei settled me in the back seat, slid in from the other side, then—pulled out a cushion and tucked it behind my back.
"Comfortable?"
"Yes."
He grabbed a thin blanket from the door pocket, shook it out, draped it over my legs.
"Too warm?"
"No."
"Thirsty? There's water."
"Andrei." I grabbed his hand. "You've asked me eight times in five minutes. I'm fine. The doctor said the babies are fine. I'm fine."
He looked at me, lips parting slightly, shoulders dropping. This man—the same one who'd shattered Pavel's nose with one punch—sat in the back seat clutching the corner of that blanket like someone who'd just defused a bomb and was waiting to see if it would actually stay defused.
"Okay." He tugged the blanket up another inch.
The car pulled away from the hospital, merging into Manhattan traffic.
Sunlight streamed through the window onto my lap, warming the blanket.
I leaned back, watching the familiar streets and storefronts pass by—people lined up at the coffee shop, middle schoolers horsing around on the sidewalk.
Everything looked the same and completely different.
I hadn't seen the outside world in a week.
When we reached the manor, the iron gates swung open. The twin rows of oak trees were at peak green, the fountain sparkled in the sunlight.
"We're home," Andrei said.
As he carried me into the main house, I noticed the vase in the hall held new flowers. Not red roses—a huge bunch of sunflowers in a crystal vase, petals bright as little suns under the skylight.
"Sunflowers."
"You said they're your favorite."
"When did I say that?"
"That night at Glacier. You told me your sister once grew a sunflower on the windowsill of your rental. The only spot of color in the whole place."
I stared at the flowers for a long moment, warmth flooding my chest.
"Andrei, you actually remember every single thing I say."
"Of course." He carried me upstairs. "Everything about you—I remember."
Our bedroom had fresh sheets—white cotton that smelled of sun and detergent.
A smaller bouquet of sunflowers sat on the nightstand, echoing the one downstairs.
Tree shadows played across the walk-in closet's glass wall.
The sneakers Andrei bought me still sat front and center on the shoe rack, surrounded by the flat shoes he'd gotten for my pregnancy, lined up in perfect rows.
My nose prickled. All of it was still here. Rebecca hadn't destroyed it. Pavel hadn't destroyed it. The chains and blades, the lies and fear—none of it had stolen the sunlight from this room.
Andrei set me on the bed, sat beside me, and gently peeled back the medical tape on my hand. The needle mark had healed, leaving only a tiny red dot. He ran his thumb over it, then placed my hand back on the covers.
"Rest first. I'll make lunch. What do you want?"
"Didn't we say we'd make apple pie?"
"You can't eat just dessert for lunch."
"Apple pie and that steak you made last time."
"Deal."
He stood, headed for the door, stopped halfway, and looked back.
"What?"
"Nothing." His voice was soft. "Just don't want to leave you. Want to keep you in my sight."
His bluntness sent heat rushing to my face. I glared at him. "Andrei, you're just going downstairs to cook!"
"We've been together constantly these past few days. Not even a second apart. Still not enough."
"Not enough," he said seriously.
Then he left. I heard his footsteps descending.
I lay alone in the soft bed, hand on my barely rounded belly. Not obvious yet, hardly visible under the covers. But I knew they were there.
Elena came to see me three days after my discharge.
When the doorbell rang, I was in the study browsing Andrei's mother's Russian books—couldn't read a word, but the yellowed pages smelled old and comforting. I heard Andrei and Elena's voices downstairs, then light footsteps on the stairs.
Elena pushed open the door. She wore a light blue cardigan, hair in a low ponytail, face so much ruddier than when I'd last seen her at the hospital. Her surgical wound had healed completely, rejection symptoms gone. She no longer needed help walking—her steps were steady, if slow.
She stood in the doorway for a few seconds, looked at my face, then down at my belly, then rushed over and threw her arms around me.
"Elena—" I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent.
"You scared me to death." Her voice shook. "They told me you'd been kidnapped, that you were pregnant—I almost lost it, you know?"
"I'm sorry." I hugged her waist. "I didn't want you to worry. You'd just had surgery, I—"
"I know." She pulled back, cupped my face in both hands, examining me closely, brow furrowed. "These bruises—do they still hurt?"
"Not anymore. Doctor said they'll fade in a few days."
She looked down at my arm. The twelve-stitch wound wasn't yet healed, gauze wrapped around my forearm. She lifted my wrist gently, more carefully than any nurse I'd seen, then looked into my eyes.
"The person who took you—"
"Dead." I didn't elaborate.
She was silent for a moment, then sat beside me, taking my uninjured hand in hers. Her hand was warm—warmer than it had ever been, probably because her new heart beat strong enough now to truly warm her limbs.
"Lily," she said. "Start from the beginning. From the night you ran out. Tell me everything."
I'd always planned to tell her, just not while her body was still recovering. Now she sat before me, eyes steady and calm. She was ready.
So I started with Rebecca cornering me in my bedroom that night. When the words "surrogate tool" left my lips, my voice caught. Elena squeezed my hand, nails leaving marks on my skin.
I kept going. Elena didn't interrupt once. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes growing redder. Only when I finished—when I told her Andrei had rescued me—did she close her eyes, two silent tears sliding down.
Elena squeezed my hand and gazed at the jade ring on my finger. "Lily, you didn't choose wrong. He loves you—more than any love I ever dared imagine."
I hugged her. We cried together in the sunlit study, then laughed through our tears, like we had as kids in the basement after our parents' funeral.
Only this time we weren't squeezed into a windowless, freezing room.
We were in a warm manor, with fountains and oak trees and patrolling guards outside, and downstairs, a man was cooking lunch—the smell of butter searing steak drifted up the stairs into our noses.
"You smell that?" Elena sniffled.
"Yeah."
"Your husband cooks for you every day?"
"Not every day. Sometimes him, sometimes the chef."
"Is he good?"
"Almost as good as your apple pie."
"You little liar." Elena laughed, reached out and pinched my cheek, touch light as a feather.
A month later, Elena officially moved into the manor.
Andrei had already had her room prepared—at the other end of the second-floor hallway, separated from our master bedroom by the study and library.
Just the right distance—close enough to find each other easily, far enough for privacy.
The mattress was custom-made based on her measurements, a warm-toned lamp she liked sat on the nightstand.
I'd picked out the light linen curtains—Elena once said she hated heavy drapes, wanted enough light in her room.
Andrei had somehow procured a baby grand Steinway, placed in the corner.
A knitted throw covered the piano bench—one our mother had made by hand years ago, which I'd kept stored away, never willing to use. Finally, I'd brought it out.
The walk-in closet held clothes in her size, the vanity displayed her preferred skincare brands, drawers contained neatly folded silk pajamas. A new tablet and noise-canceling headphones sat on the bedside table—Andrei said they were for entertainment while she recovered.
Elena stood in her doorway, left hand on the frame, right hand clutching the hem of her cardigan, staring at it all, speechless.
"Elena, come in." I waved from inside. She walked in slowly, feet sinking slightly into the plush carpet.
"I've never lived anywhere this nice. Lily, remember that basement we lived in?"
"I do," I said. "But we've left all that behind. It's over."
I went over and looped my arm through hers. "You'll have to get used to it. I'm going to give you even better."
"Give me?"
"Yeah, you're my sister. Andrei gets to spoil me. I'm going to spoil you."
Elena laughed through her tears and tapped my forehead lightly. "You little thing."
Just then, warm hands settled on my waist from behind. Andrei had appeared beside me without me noticing. His hands slid from my waist forward, coming to rest gently on my slightly rounded belly.
His palm was hot, heat seeping through the thin cotton of my dress into my skin. Then he lowered his head, lips brushing a kiss across my forehead.
Elena turned to look at us. Our family smiled together, radiantly happy.
Outside, afternoon sun blazed. Oak shadows fell across the lawn, the fountain's spray cast a faint rainbow in the light.
Near the perimeter wall, patrolling guards passed by, footsteps crisp and quiet.
From the kitchen drifted the smell of apple pie—Andrei had baked it before picking up Elena.
It should be cooled by now, waiting on the counter to be sliced.
As I nestled in Andrei's arms, feeling the warmth of his lips on my brow, I smiled to myself.
Now, my sister and my love were both by my side. Inside my belly, two little ones carrying mine and Andrei's blood waited to be born. Everything was so blissfully happy.