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Pure warmth and sympathy fills her eyes. “Oh, Daphne, I am so sorry.”
That’s confusing. Why isn’t she telling me to go back and undo it? Why isn’t she scolding me? Berating me?
“It is not something we wake up one morning and decide to do,” she says quietly. “It is years of pain and betrayal and heartache that build up to the point where you have no choice but to rid yourself of your own flesh and blood. For that, for your pain… I am sorry.”
She’s right—this has been years in coming. Decades in the making.
Still doesn’t make it any easier.
“That’s just it.” Something else she said pokes at my fears. “They’re in me. They are me. My flesh and blood. Does this mean I’m gonna turn out as terrible of a mother as she is?”
Oh, God. Please don’t let me turn into Ophelia.
“Just because you come from someone doesn’t mean you’re destined to be just like them. You have a choice. I think you’ve already made some of the best ones. You’re both doing a far better job than you give yourselves credit for.”
“Wait… Pasha?” I scrunch my nose in disbelief. “He’s worried?”
Asya nods. “Oh, yes! He was so terrified he’d become just like Kostya…” She sighs. “But he is so unlike that man. I would know; I’ve been watching.”
“He’s going to be a great father.” I rub my belly when I feel Baby Chekhov roll over and press her hands out. Asya’s eyes light up, so I move her hand in place to feel the flutters for herself. “Our baby is going to be so overwhelmed with love. And I want her to see that I’m in this for her. I’ll always be on her side. I’ll always…” I blink back a fresh batch of tears and focus on Asya’s hand rubbing my stomach. “I’ll always fight for her. For our family. Just like you do for yours.”
“Which includes you, sweetheart. Don’t forget.”
Another tear falls for that.
I happen to see her phone flash on the coffee table. I can’t read Russian, but I recognize the man in the profile picture. “So… tell me all about this Arlo guy…” I say, desperate for a change of subject.
“Oh! He’s just, ah…” She swipes her phone from the table and stuffs it into her sweater pocket. “He’s an old friend of mine. From way back. We’re just… catching up.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, trying to play casual. But I see something a little purple, a little pink, and a whole lot like the hickey I’ve got on my own neck peeking out from under her ear.
“Asya!” I fake-gasp. “Are we rekindling an old flame?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Emphasis on old. I’m amazed he even gives me the time of day.”
“You’re stunning. He’d be stupid not to. And blind.”
The way her whole face lights up tells me everything I need to know.
Knowing Pasha has probably read her the riot act already, I decide to show a little mercy and leave her to her secrets. “I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to be swept off your feet by a handsome man from across the sea…”
“Here’s hoping my children don’t try to sink his ship,” she mutters.
“They’ll get over it. If you love him, and he loves you, don’t let anyone or anything stop you.”
Her brow lifts up. “Is that what you’re doing with my son?”
I pat my stomach self-consciously, feeling the blush rise in my cheeks. “Well, it’s been a little convoluted. We got some of the steps backwards. But… yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” She slaps her hands on her thighs and pushes herself off the couch. “Now, I’m going to pour us some tea, and you are going to tell me all the baby names you are thinking of. I know you’re not Russian, but there are some beautiful options from our language…”
Her voice fades into the kitchen. I don’t know much—who I love, or how, or what the future holds, or even what my baby’s name will be—but I do know one thing beyond a doubt now.
I may have lost my birth parents, but I still have a mother.
The kind of mother I’ve always needed.
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