The room tilts.
I sink back against the cabinet, one hand flying to my mouth, the other curling over my abdomen as if instinct already knows what to do. My breath breaks—not into panic, not into fear—but into something raw and stunned and holy.
Life.
Here.
Inside me.
After everything that tried to take us apart.
I’m happy—exhilarated, even—but a knot of uncertainty twists in my chest. We’ve never talked about having kids. He’s never said a word. I’ve watched him with his brothers’ children during visits, laughed at how gentle he is, seen how he melts into those moments…but never once has he mentioned us.
Would he want this? Would he…be like this?
The bathroom door suddenly flies open.
“Rae—” he starts, then freezes. His eyes dart down. The test. My hands. My wide, trembling smile.
His mouth parts, and I see the flicker of something I can’t name—shock, awe, disbelief, hope.
“What…what is that?” His voice is low, rough, and laced with tension.
I lift the test a little, trembling with anticipation, my breath hitching.
“It’s…a pregnancy test,” I say softly. “…and it’s positive.”
For a long beat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He just stares at me—at us—as if the world has narrowed down to the two of us and a single, impossible thread of life.
Then Konstantin’s expression breaks.
Not violently.
Beautifully.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands slide to my hips, reverent, almost afraid to touch, and he presses his forehead to my stomach.
“My family,” he whispers.
The words undo me.
He kisses me then—slow, shaking, his hands trembling as they cradle my face, my back, my waist—like he’s memorizing proof that this is real. I’m laughing and crying all at once, clutching him, burying my fingers in his hair as if I might float away if I don’t hold on.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright, unguarded, full.
“This,” he says, voice thick, broken with awe, “is the best day of my life.”
He lifts me off the floor, holding me close against his chest, and I feel the heat of him, the pulse of his life against mine. His eyes are wide, glittering, tears catching the light—something I’ve never seen before. The man who’s faced deathand chaos now looks at me like I’m the only miracle in the universe.
“What did I do in my past life,” he whispers, voice raw, “to deserve you…to deserve this?”
I sniffle, trying to steady myself, and manage a trembling laugh. “I…I was just a little worried about how you’d react.”
His frown softens, but there’s fire in it, the kind that warms and consumes all at once. “You clearly have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low, trembling with awe, “of the depth of my love for you. And the fact that our child…our child will come from that love—” His hands tighten on my waist, thumbs brushing over my back. “I’m ecstatic. I will love this child more than life itself. More than breath. More than everything I’ve ever known.”
I press my hands to his chest, feeling his heart pound like it’s syncing with mine. He leans down, forehead resting against mine, eyes glimmering wet and bright. His lips brush against my temple, my hair, every kiss a vow, a promise, a silent declaration that we are ours, that we are unbreakable.
I laugh and cry, words failing, tears streaking my cheeks, and he holds me tighter, whispering, “You’re my life. And this…this makes it infinite.”