Chapter 4

We walk back to the recovery room to find Nessa with a tube in her mouth and a ventilator breathing for her. There are so many IV lines connected to her that she seems more machine than human. Her face is paler than I’ve ever seen, and a large patch of dressing is covering her stomach.

The nurse walks me through everything at the bedside, helping me understand what happened during surgery. I have no idea how our girl made it, but she’s our fighter.

I feel nauseous as I look at her. While I know it’s Nessa, she looks nothing like herself right now.

Boris comes in a moment after me and stops dead in his tracks, taking in her form. He looks like he wants to run, and I don’t know if he will be able to come back from it if he does it again.

Right now, I don’t see how any of us will survive this.

The nurse urges me forward, so I do what I have been hoping for hours to get another chance at. My hand finds Nessa’s under the blanket, and I squeeze it gently. She is so cold to the touch, her skin so white she almost looks blue.

Boris steps up to her other side and does the same. Silently, the nurse brings us each a chair, and we just sit there, trying to be thankful Nessa is alive while grieving the loss of our baby.

It’s insane to think about. We just saved forty-six kids from a life of slavery and trauma, and in the end we couldn’t even protect our own.

She warned us of this. She said protecting them would be too hard and that we should never think we’re invincible. I naively thought I could be different. I thought I could be stronger, better.

Nessa had even loosened her vest at one point, and all of her stomach was covered when she was shot. I’m starting to think the person who did this had to have known exactly what they were aiming for.

I try to stay calm by breathing through my nose, but my chest is cracking in half the longer I sit here staring at her beautiful, ashen face.

How did I get here? I got her back just for us to have to go through all of this?

If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be here like this. I was the one who got us stuck in those torture rooms. I was the reason she lost her IUD. And I was part of the reason she got pregnant.

Would she be better off if I were gone?

No. Nope. I am not doing that.

I will not be the man who runs when she needs me the most. She would assume I hated her for losing our child, and I can’t let her think that.

I have to stay strong. I have to stay.

After a while, the nurse comes over with a very small bundle, wrapped in pink cloth in her hand.

“Would you like to hold her?”

I swallow, my throat caught between a cry and a sob as I reach out to take my daughter. She carefully places a tiny baby, the size of my palm in my hand, a tiny pink blanket under her small body.

“A girl,” I say in a whisper. I can’t take my eyes off of her. I never knew a human could be so tiny and also look so real. I can count all of her fingers and toes, I can even see the little bump of her nose and the outline of her lips.

“Doc believes she was eighteen weeks.”

Tears burn my eyes as I hold our perfect baby girl.

“She’s so real,” I try to say, but end up choking on my words, unable to hold back any longer. My throat burns and my nose waters with the effort of trying to hold it all in.

Boris comes to my side and kneels, together we look at the tiny little girl I hold in my hands, at the life that was taken away too soon. His finger reaches out to curl under her little hand. Her fingers spread and lay over his single one as he shakes his head.

I can see the war in his eyes. The fight between wanting to scream and break. I reach a finger to hold her other hand.

“She is perfect,” Boris says.

“She’s so small.” My voice shakes as a single tear splashes next to our daughter on her blanket.

I thought I knew pain when I heard the fake news of Nessa dying, but this is an agony greater than I believed was possible. I wish there was a way to save her, to do CPR of some kind or hook her up to machines and bring her back to us.

Logically, I know that she’s too small for all of that, but it doesn’t feel like it while I hold her. She’s real and here, and I am doing nothing to fight for her.

It’s like a form of torture. One that I know will never be topped because this is already breaking me.

“Boris,” I whisper. “What do we do?”

All he can do is shake his head as he stares at our baby girl’s tiny form.

I bring her body close to my chest, hoping that if her soul is still inside, she’ll be able to feel the way my heart beats for her.

Boris strokes her tiny head as he kneels on the floor in front of me. I never thought I would see the day when this man kneeled for another, but it seems fitting that the only one who deserves the honor is our daughter.

The nurse approaches, her voice low.

“I know this may seem wrong, but if you would like, I can take a picture for you. Some think it is disrespectful, but Nessa won’t get the chance to say goodbye, so pictures can help sometimes.”

I want to say no, but then I look at the woman I love as she battles for every breath. She deserves to say goodbye in whatever way she can.

I look to Boris and he nods, handing the nurse his phone. She is silent as she sits in the background and allows us to say goodbye. I see the phone raise a few times, but it is less intrusive than I thought it would be. The only thing on my mind is my little girl.

“I would have given you the world,” I breathe, placing a soft kiss on her little head.

“ Prostite , moya kroshka ,” Boris adds before doing the same.

Forgive me, little one. I don’t know much Russian, but this I do know. He called he r moya kroshka a few times when we were designing the nurseries. I always loved the way it sounded.

I hand her over to him so that he can hold her for the first and last time too. He stands and cradles her to his body, directly in front of his heart as he murmurs sweet words to her in a language I don’t understand.

It’s not fair that she was stripped of her chance to know us, but even if she is watching us from above, I want her to hear our voices and feel our love every minute that I can possibly provide.

Time passes slowly until the nurse approaches us again. “I am sorry, but she will not look like herself much longer. Could I make a suggestion before I take her?”

A part of me wants to snap at the woman and refuse to give her my daughter. There will never be enough time to hold her or say goodbye.

“Please,” Boris says, keeping our girl close to him until the very last second.

“Since Nessa will not get to say goodbye, I have found that mothers heal better knowing that they got to hold their little ones. If you place her on Nessa’s chest, I will get a photo for her.”

We nod as I stand, and the nurse moves some of the tubing so that we can lay our daughter over Nessa’s heart. I don’t see the moment the picture is taken, but I place my hand on Nessa, right under our little girl, to feel her heart beating.

We may have survived, but I know none of us will ever be the same again.

After a few minutes, the nurse leaves with a piece of my heart in her hands. I find that I can no longer hold back the pain. Instead of sitting next to Nessa, I get into the large bed and lay at her side while I let it all out.

My nose runs, tears soaking the blankets under us, but I keep my hand on Nessa, directly over the spot she had to say goodbye to our daughter.

We will never get to know her. We won’t hear her laughter or get to calm her sorrow. I will never get to kiss her boo-boos or hold her hand again. I won’t get to argue with Boris over how we’ll do her hair or fight to be the one that holds her at night.

All of that was stripped away from us with the sound of a single gunshot. Out of the corner of my eye, the tears subside long enough for me to see Boris walking to the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

He doesn't answer. But he doesn’t turn back either.

“She’s going to need you. She’s going to need both of us when she wakes up.”

Finally, he turns and I can already see his decision is made.

“My world only brings both of you pain. I try to ensure the safety of those I love, but I am constantly reminded that happiness is not an option for me. Because of that, neither of you will be able to be happy if I am in the equation.”

If my jaw could fall to the floor it would. You might need to hold me back, because I am about to strangle this man. Didn’t we already go through this once?

“Coward,” I bite out as he opens the door.

“For once, Kid, I agree with you.”