The afternoon sun through the tall windows of the sunroom creates geometric patterns across the plush carpet where I’ve spread out baby clothes in careful piles after they’ve all been washed. Eugenie removed them from the dressers where we’d put them to handle the task, which hadn’t occurred to me the day we came home from the baby boutique.
Sorting through onesies and tiny socks all over again should feel overwhelming but instead, it brings a strange sense of peace. Each miniature garment represents the possibility this could all work out, and we can become the family I’m starting to believe we might be.
I hold up a pale yellow sleeper with little ducks embroidered across the chest, imagining our daughter wearing it during those first precious weeks. The fabric is impossibly soft, and I can almost picture Nikandr’s large hands struggling with the tiny snaps, his usually demeanor cracking into something tender and uncertain.
The image makes my chest ache with longing and possibility.
Things between us have shifted over the past few weeks in ways I’m still trying to understand. He’s been more present and thoughtful. Not just protective—though that instinct runs so deeply in him I doubt it’ll ever fade—but genuinely attentive to what I need and want. He brings me coffee exactly how I like it without being asked. He listens when I talk about the baby, both my fears and excitement, without trying to fix everything or take control.
Yesterday, he spent an hour assembling a rocking chair for the nursery, reading the instructions twice before starting and refusing my offer to help. When he finished, he tested it carefully, rocking back and forth with a concentration that made my heart flutter.
“It’s perfect,” I told him, settling into the chair to test the smooth motion.
He stood there watching me, hands shoved into his pockets, and for a moment, his expression was so tender I almost convinced myself I saw love there.
I fold the yellow sleeper and add it to the growing pile, then reach for my phone. The conversation I need to have with Jessie can’t wait any longer. She’s been patient with my scattered updates and careful omissions, but I owe her honesty about where my heart is leading me.
The phone rings twice before her familiar voice fills the sunroom via the speakerphone as I set it down to continue folding and sorting. “Hey, Mama. How are you feeling today?”
“Good. Better than good, actually.” I lean back against the couch cushions. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Uh oh. That tone usually means you’re about to do something that scares me.”
I laugh despite the nervous energy building in my chest. “Not scared, exactly. More like…ready.”
“Ready for what?”
I take a breath, gathering the words I’ve been turning over in my mind for days. “Things with Nikandr have changed, Jessie. He’s different now. More open, more…” I search for the right word. “Present. Like he’s actually here with me instead of just protecting me.”
“That’s good, right? You sound happy about it.”
“I am happy about it. That’s the problem.” I run my free hand over the curve of my belly, feeling the baby’s subtle movements beneath my palm. “I’m ready to have a real conversation with him about our future, not just co-parenting arrangements or keeping things civil for the baby’s sake.”
Jessie is quiet for a long moment, and I can practically hear her thinking. “What kind of conversation?”
“The kind where I tell him I want commitment. A real future together. Not just shared custody, but an actual life—marriage, family, and growing old together… All of it.”
She seems to be struggling with what to say. “Sabrina…”
“I know what you’re going to say—”
She interrupts with a short laugh that has no amusement. “Do you? Because what I’m going to say is that I want you to be happy, but I also want you to be safe. Wanting something from a man like him…” She sighs. “There are things about his life that don’t just disappear because you’re having his baby.”
The careful way she phrases it tells me she’s trying to be diplomatic, but her concern comes through clearly. “I know that. I’m not naïve about who he is or what he’s done.”
“Then you know that the life he’s built doesn’t have an easy exit ramp. Men like him don’t just retire and become suburban dads.”
I stand and walk to the window, looking out at the perfectly manicured grounds that surround this beautiful prison. “What if he was willing to try? What if he wanted to leave it all behind?”
She sounds skeptical. “Has he said that?”
“Not exactly in those words, but there are indications…” I press my forehead against the cool glass. “There have been moments where I can see him imagining a different life. Something normal and safe and…”
“And you think that’s enough to build a future on? Moments and maybes?”
Her skepticism stings, but I understand it. From the outside, my situation looks insane—falling in love with a man who kidnapped me and carrying the child of someone whose world operates on violence and fear. She still doesn’t know about the kidnapping though. She just thinks he’s a powerful, dangerous man, with whom I spent four impulsive days before learning the full truth.
“He’s been different lately,” I say, turning away from the window to pace the length of the sunroom. “More thoughtful. Like when we went baby shopping, he didn’t just buy everything I touched. He watched me with this look, like he was memorizing the moment. And the way he talks about our daughter…” I pause, remembering the wonder in his voice during our last ultrasound appointment. “It’s like Elizabeth has already changed him somehow.”
She’s quiet for a moment before sighing slowly and loudly. “Change is good, but it takes time. Real change, the kind that sticks, doesn’t happen overnight.”
I nod as I fold two tiny socks together, realizing my hands have been idle while we’ve been talking. “I know, but what if this is the beginning? What if having a family is exactly what he needs to want something different?”
Jessie’s silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped. Finally, she speaks, her voice gentler than before. “What exactly are you thinking of asking him?”
I sink back onto the couch, pulling a soft pink blanket into my lap. “I want to know if he’s willing to leave his business behind. Completely. Not just delegate more or step back gradually but actually walk away from all of it.”
“And if he says no?”
The question I’ve been avoiding hits me square in the chest. “Then I’ll raise our daughter alone, and he can be the kind of father who sees her on weekends and holidays.”
“You’d really walk away from him?” She makes no attempt to hide her doubt.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine a life without Nikandr’s solid presence, or the way he makes me feel protected and cherished and completely seen. The thought makes my chest ache, but I force myself to face it. “I’d have to. I won’t raise my child in a world where violence is always lurking around the corner, where every knock at the door could be a threat.” I open my eyes and stare at the carefully organized baby clothes. “She deserves better than that. We both do.”
“God, Sabrina. When you put it like that…”
“I know it sounds impossible. I know the odds are against us, but what if they’re not? What if he really is ready to choose us over everything else he’s built?”
“Then you’d have your fairy tale ending.”
The wistful note in her voice makes me smile despite the weight of what I’m contemplating. “Not a fairy tale. Just a chance at something real and normal and safe.”
“Safety comes first,” she says, echoing the same words she’s said dozens of times since this all began. “Promise me you won’t compromise on that, no matter how much you love him.”
The casual way she says love makes my breath catch. I haven’t admitted that to anyone, barely even to myself, but hearing it spoken aloud makes it impossible to deny. “I promise,” I whisper, meaning it completely.
“Okay. Then I support whatever decision you make. Just…be careful how you approach this conversation. Men like him don’t respond well to ultimatums.”
I scowl instinctively. “It’s not an ultimatum. It’s just honesty about what I need to feel safe building a life with him.”
She scoffs. “There’s a difference?”
I consider that, running my fingers over the soft fabric in my lap. “I think so. An ultimatum is about control and manipulation. This is about giving him the information he needs to make his own choice about what he wants our future to look like.”
“And if he chooses wrong?”
I hesitate before sighing. “At least I’ll know where I stand.”
We talk for a few more minutes about practical things—her work schedule, plans for the nursery, and the latest cravings that have me mixing hot sauce with chocolate ice cream—but I can tell she’s still worried about the conversation I’m planning to have with Nikandr.
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet sunroom, surrounded by reminders of the life I’m hoping to build. The baby clothes represent innocence and possibility. The rocking chair in the nursery speaks to quiet moments of comfort and connection. The ultrasound photos propped on the side table in most rooms of the house show our daughter’s perfect profile, captured in stunning detail.
Everything whispers of a future I want so desperately I can taste it.
I’m still lost in thought when footsteps in the hallway announce someone’s approach. The cadence is too light to be Nikandr, and sure enough, Maksim appears in the doorway, carrying a tablet and wearing his usual expression of controlled professionalism.
“Sabrina.” He nods politely. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. I’m just folding baby clothes and overthinking everything.”
Something that might be a smile flickers across his face. “A dangerous combination.”
I gesture to the chair across from me. “Want to sit? Or are you looking for Nikandr? He’s in his office working on something involving spreadsheets and financial projections.”
Maksim settles into the chair, setting aside his tablet. “Actually, I was hoping to speak with you.”
The serious tone makes me straighten. “Is everything okay? Is there a threat—”
“No threats,” he assures me quickly. “Nothing like that. I just…” He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I overheard part of your phone conversation as I was walking by. Not intentionally, but the acoustics in this house…”
Heat floods my cheeks. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you’re planning to have a serious conversation with Nikandr about his future in the organization.”
I cross my arms, feeling suddenly defensive. “And you have opinions about that?”
“I have observations.” He leans forward slightly, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “Nikandr isn’t the same man he was six months ago. Hell, he’s not the same man he was six weeks ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been making changes. Quietly and carefully, but substantive changes to how he operates, what he prioritizes, and where he focuses his attention.”
My pulse quickens. “What kind of changes?”
He studies me for a long moment, clearly debating how much to reveal. “The kind that suggest he’s already thinking about the conversation you want to have with him.”
“Are you saying—?”
“I’m saying don’t give up on him before you give him a chance to surprise you.” He picks up his tablet, signaling the end of our conversation. “Maybe trust he loves you and your daughter more than you realize.”
Before I can respond, he’s on his feet and heading for the door. I call after him, desperate for more information. “Maksim, wait. What aren’t you telling me?”
He pauses in the doorway, looking back with something that might be sympathy. “That’s a conversation you need to have with him, not me, but…” He waits until I meet his gaze. “Some questions answer themselves if you’re patient enough to let them.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and a heart full of hope I’m afraid to fully embrace. Maybe Maksim is right and some questions answer themselves. Maybe I just need to be brave enough to ask the right ones.
