I need him to come home.
I hear the front door open. My heart stops.
I freeze in the middle of the office. I wait for gunfire or shouting. Nelson to rush me out of the house.
Nothing.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Please be him. Please be him. Please?—
Sergei appears in the doorway.
He’s covered in blood. His hands, his clothes, his face. But he’s standing. He’s breathing. He’s alive.
“It’s done,” he says.
Two words. That’s all it takes.
The relief hits me so hard my knees buckle. I reach out to steady myself against the desk, but I can’t hold it together. Not anymore.
He moves toward me. I throw myself at him. I don’t care about the blood.
I just need to hold him. Feel his heart beating strong.
My arms wrap around his waist. I bury my face against his chest. The sob that tears out of me is ugly and raw and I can’t stop it.
“I’ve got you,buntarka,” he murmurs, his arms coming around me. “I’ve got you.”
I’m crying for everything. For my mother who died because she dared to want something for herself. For the years I spent not knowing what my father had done. For the little girl I was who believed her daddy loved her.
I cry for the woman I’ve become—hardened and scarred and so tired of fighting.
I cry until I’m empty. Until there’s nothing left but exhaustion and relief and this overwhelming gratitude that he’s still breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage, my voice hoarse. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You need to shower.”
“I do, but it can wait.”
His blue eyes are intense, searching my face like he’s making sure I’m really okay.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for coming back.”
“I’ll always come back to you.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the tears. “Always.”
I need to tell him. Right now. Before I lose my nerve.
“Sergei, I need to tell you something.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I mean, nothing bad.” I take a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air between us.