Chapter 13: She Heard Their Hearts

BRABRA

I can still hear it that night, hours later, lying alone in my bed with both hands folded over my stomach.

Two heartbeats, fast and layered and impossibly real, filling a small room that used to feel like the loneliest place in the world every time I sat on that exam table by myself. Today, it didn't feel lonely at all.

I close my eyes and let myself replay it again — the static, the sudden rhythm, Andriy going completely still beside me like the sound had reached somewhere deep inside him that boardrooms and contracts never could. I think about his hand finding mine without either of us deciding it, warm and slightly unsteady, holding on like he needed it as much as I did.

I didn't expect that. I didn't expect any of this, if I'm honest with myself. Not the tenderness in his voice. Not the brightness in his eyes he tried so hard to hide from me. Not the way he said they're real like the words themselves cost him something enormous to admit out loud.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Andriy: Are you awake?

I stare at the screen for a moment before typing back.

Me: Can't sleep. Still thinking about today.

Andriy: Me too.

I smile despite myself, alone in the dark, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Me: It's strange, isn't it? Hearing something you already believed in.

Andriy: I've never felt anything like it. I don't think I have the right words for it yet.

Me: You don't need the right words. I felt it too.

There's a pause, longer than the others, and I imagine him on the other end of that silence the way I imagine most things about him now — carefully, cautiously, still not entirely sure how much of myself I'm allowed to hand over to a man I spent so long keeping at arm's length.

Andriy: Can I ask you something?

Me: Okay.

Andriy: Were you scared, all those weeks you were doing this alone? Not just of me finding out. Of everything.

I set the phone down for a moment, both hands pressed to my stomach, letting the question settle before I answer it honestly.

Me: Every single day. I was scared I wouldn't be strong enough. Scared I'd fail them somehow, just by being the only one holding all of it.

Andriy: You're not the only one anymore.

Me: I know. I'm still learning how to believe that.

Andriy: Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

I read the message three times before I set the phone aside, something warm and unfamiliar settling into my chest, cautious but real.

The next morning, I wake before my alarm, the way I always do now, but for the first time in weeks, I don't wake up already bracing for the day ahead. I lie still for a moment, listening to the quiet, feeling the faint flutter low in my stomach that's become more frequent lately, more insistent, like two small lives are already impatient to be known.

"Good morning," I whisper, pressing my palm flat against the movement. "I heard you both yesterday. Did you know that? Your father heard you too."

I don't know if they can hear me. Dr. Adaora says they might, faintly, in these last months, but I like to believe it anyway, that somewhere beneath my hand, two small hearts already recognize the sound of my voice, and now, maybe, his too.

I get up and dress for work slowly, no longer rushing through the motions the way I used to, no longer needing quite as much armor as before. The exhaustion is still there. The ache in my back hasn't gone anywhere. But something underneath all of it feels lighter than it has in months.

My phone buzzes again as I'm gathering my bag.

Andriy: I know you have work today. But if you're free this weekend, I'd like to take you somewhere. Nothing complicated. Just time to talk. Away from clinics and offices and everything that keeps interrupting us.

I stare at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the reply.

Part of me, the careful, guarded part that's kept me safe for years, wants to find a reason to say no, some excuse that keeps a wall standing between us a little while longer.

But I think about his hand around mine yesterday. I think about two heartbeats filling a small room, and a man who didn't try to hide how much they moved him.

Me: Okay. This weekend.

Andriy: I'll pick you up Saturday.

I set the phone down and press my hand against my stomach one more time before I head for the door.

"We're taking a step forward," I whisper. "I don't know exactly where it leads yet. But I think, for the first time, I'm not afraid to find out."

Outside, the morning air feels cooler than usual, sharp and clean against my face, and for once, walking down those twenty-two familiar stairs, I don't feel like I'm bracing myself for whatever the day decides to throw at me.

I feel, cautiously, like I'm walking toward something instead.

At the office, my coworker catches me smiling at my phone during my lunch break, a small, private smile I don't manage to hide fast enough.

"Okay, that's a new look on you," she says, sliding into the chair across from me with her own lunch. "Good news?"

I hesitate, my hand instinctively resting over my stomach the way it always does now, no longer bothering to hide the gesture from her the way I once did. She's noticed by now, I think. She's too observant not to have.

"I heard something yesterday," I say slowly, testing how much I'm ready to share. "At a doctor's appointment. It made everything feel a little more real."

Her eyes soften, understanding dawning without me having to spell it out completely. "The tiredness. The hand on your stomach every five minutes. I wondered."

"You never said anything."

"Wasn't my secret to push you on." She shrugs, gentle instead of prying. "You looked like you were carrying something heavy enough without me adding questions to it."

Something in my chest loosens at that, gratitude for a kindness I hadn't fully noticed until just now. "Twins," I say quietly. "I'm having twins."

Her eyes widen. "Brabra."

"I know."

"Are you—" She glances around the break room, lowering her voice. "Are you doing okay? Do you have help?"

I think about Andriy's hand around mine in that exam room, his voice cracking over two small heartbeats neither of us expected to move him so completely.

"I think I'm starting to," I say. "It's complicated. But yes. I have help now."

She doesn't push further, though I can see the questions gathering behind her eyes, curiosity held carefully in check out of respect for whatever boundary I haven't offered to cross yet.

"Well," she says instead, reaching over to squeeze my hand briefly. "I'm glad. You've looked exhausted for weeks. It's good to see you smile like that again."

"Thank you," I say, and I mean it more than the two small words manage to carry.

The rest of the day passes easier than most have lately, the secret I've carried so carefully for months finally starting to feel less like a weight and more like something I'm slowly, cautiously allowed to share.

Friday evening, I stand in front of my closet longer than I should for someone who was told the plans are nothing complicated.

Nothing complicated doesn't stop my hands from pulling out three different options and putting all three back, uncertain, self-conscious in a way I haven't let myself feel around him yet. I press a hand to my stomach, steadying myself the way I always do now.

"It's not a big deal," I tell my reflection. "It's just talking. Away from clinics and offices."

My reflection doesn't look entirely convinced, but she rarely does these days.

I settle finally on something simple, comfortable, a soft sweater that doesn't fight against the small, rounding shape of me anymore. I catch myself smiling faintly at my own reflection, an expression I haven't worn in front of that mirror in longer than I can remember.

My phone buzzes on the bed behind me.

Andriy: Looking forward to tomorrow.

I read it twice before I let myself type back.

Me: Me too.

It's a small admission, three plain words, but it feels larger than that somehow, standing in my bedroom with my hand pressed against two small, steady flutters of movement, allowing myself, cautiously, to look forward to something instead of only bracing for it.

I set the phone down and turn off the light, and for the first time in longer than I can count, I fall asleep without needing to remind myself that tomorrow will be survivable.

I already believe that it will be. Whatever tomorrow brings, I want to meet it wide awake.