“You are beautiful, mijo,” I whisper.
“He really is,” the blonde nurse agrees. She smiles down at the both of us. “Pure beauty. And trust me, I don’t say that about every baby.”
Laughter bubbles up to my lips.
For the first time in a long time, I feel truly and freely happy.
“Is there someone we can call for you, dear?” the blonde nurse asks.
And just like that, my happiness deflates just a little, reminding me of all the problems that still exist. All the trials I have yet to overcome.
“No,” I answer swiftly. “There’s no one.”
The second nurse moves forward just a little. The two of them exchange a glance. I can see pity in their eyes, but it doesn’t affect me anymore.
“What about the father?” the second one suggests gently.
I open my mouth, but snap it shut a moment later. How do I answer that question?
I left the father.
We wanted different lives.
I had to save my child from the world I was born into.
“There is no father,” I say simply. “It’s just me and him.” I leave it at that.
The blonde nurse moves forward and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes, that’s all you need.”
I smile gratefully at her. “Thank you.”
“He’s going to need a name.”
A name.
It’s strikes me that in all the months I had to plan and prepare for his birth, I’ve never once thought about names.
At least, not since those early days in the cabin, when it was just Artem and me. When we’d still been wrapped up in the glow of new love and fragile hope.
Thinking about it now, I realize how idealistic those conversations were.
We were just pretending.
Pretending that happiness was possible.
Pretending that we could make it as a family—against all the odds.
My son gurgles loudly and I wrench my attention back to him.
“Are you hungry, my angel?” I ask.
He raises his little fists before settling into my arms.
“You wanna try feeding him, honey?” the blonde nurse asks.
I nod as the nerves set in a little. I grew accustomed to carrying a baby while I was pregnant. But now that he’s out, a fully-fledged human being in his own right.
It terrifies me.