Chapter 39 #3
“I did.”
“And what does that mean?” She lifts her chin, as if bracing for a punch. “I’d rather you tell me once and for all whether you want this child or not. Because I do, Maksim. I’m going to have him with or without you, and I can’t keep dodging your silence much longer.”
Her voice sounds so fragile, so vulnerable that I can’t stand keeping my distance. I get up from the armchair, kneel on the floor in front of her, and take her right hand in mine. The hand where I placed the ring that first day.
“I said I didn’t want children,” I say.
She nods slowly, her eyes beginning to well up.
“At that dinner table, I told you this world is no place for a child and that I would do to a son what was done to me.”
“I remember every word, Maksim,” she says, hurt.
“I lied.”
“What do you mean?” she asks in a whisper, her beautiful green eyes now glistening with a spark of hope.
“I lied, Anya.” I squeeze her hands. “When I said I didn’t want children, the truth is I just couldn’t admit that I didn’t think I could do it. A man like me, with the life I have… I don’t deserve anything good, Solnyshko.”
Tears stream down her face, and I reach up to wipe them away.
“You came into my life and started bringing beauty to it. That’s far more than I ever dared to wish for, and now you’re giving me a child!” I lose my breath for a moment. “I thought I loved you, but I didn’t know how much until I found out you’re pregnant.”
“Medvezhonok…”
“And I’m terrified. I spent these four days trying to understand what right I have to bring a child into this world, into everything that I am.
” I shake my head. “I want this child, more than anything. But I don’t know how to be a father, Svetlana.
I didn’t have one, and I have no idea what to do.
Boris taught me to shoot when I was eleven and nearly took out my eye when I was fourteen. ”
Anya leans forward, takes my face in her hands, and does what frightened me that first day and what I’ve come to love: she touches my scar. Her fingers glide gently along the thick line until she leans in to kiss it.
A minute later she pulls back, wipes her own face, and gives a bitter laugh.
“My father sold me, and my mother never hid how much she hates me, Maksim.”
“We’re going to be a disaster at this. We have absolutely no aptitude for being parents.”
“None whatsoever.” She kisses me quickly, tears wetting our lips. “I’m scared too, Maksim. But if you’re with me, I know I can do it. I can do anything.”
I close my eyes, feeling the gentle fingers still caressing my face.
“I love you.”
I finally say what I’ve been struggling so hard to hold back. Her hands go still, her face frozen in shock.
“I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know I can’t live without you. I want a lifetime by your side, Solnyshko. I want to grow old with you and watch our child grow up.”
For the first time since I found out, I reach out and touch her belly. The place where my child is growing. A little warrior who’s already survived so much in such a short time.
Anya throws herself into my arms, collapsing against the curve of my neck.
Her sobs are loud and unrestrained, as if she’s finally letting everything she’s held inside come pouring out.
I hold her body tight against mine, letting her cry and calm down in her own time while I stay there, feeling the world right itself again.
When she finally pulls back, my shirt is soaked and her swollen green eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Say it again,” she asks, her mouth pressed against mine.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“Svetlana.”
“Don’t you ‘Svetlana’ me. You got me pregnant, Medvezhonok, now you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you don’t deny a pregnant woman anything?”
I can’t wait any longer. I thread my fingers through her hair and kiss the lips I’ve missed so much these past days. I’m careful not to hurt her any more—I know how painful cracked ribs are—so I content myself with caressing her face and hair.
Slowly, Anya settles into my lap, struggling against the orthopedic boot on her right foot until she’s seated with her legs wrapped around my waist. The fire crackles softly, spreading warmth through the room, and we stay silent for several minutes until she speaks again.
“I love you too, Maksim,” she whispers against my chest as I stroke her hair. “I know we started this marriage in a strange, unconventional way.” She sits up to look into my eyes. “But I wouldn’t change anything, not a single second of our life together.”
I embrace her again, processing her words. This woman who has been through so much these past days is saying that what we have is worth all of it—all the pain, the deaths, the violence. For a moment, I hold her tighter than I should, letting this feeling wash over me.
How strange it is to be loved unconditionally. I never thought I could experience this, but now I can—and it’s all because of her.
Svetlana Anastasia Nikiforova.
My wife.
My Queen.