Page 14 of Filthy Lies

She’s the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Give her to me,” I rasp. “Please.”

The doctor quickly clamps and cuts the cord, then lays my daughter on my chest. Her warm, slippery weight settles against me, and everything changes.

The universe realigns itself around this tiny being.

“Hello,” I whisper, running a trembling finger down her cheek. “I’m your mom.”

Her cries quiet a little as she feels my skin against hers. I can’t stop staring at her. Ten perfect fingers. Ten perfect toes. A shock of dark hair matted to her head. She has Vince’s strong chin, my nose, and eyes that are clenched tight but look like they might be my shape with his color.

A miracle folded into seven pounds of humanity.

The fierce, consuming love that floods me is like nothing I’ve experienced. It’s surreal. Overwhelming. Every atom in my body has been reprogrammed with a single directive:Protect this child.

“Sofiya,” I murmur, the name we chose feeling right on my tongue. “Sofiya Akopov.”

The doctor tends to me while I’m lost gazing at this perfect angel. I barely notice. I can’t look away from my daughter.

“She appears healthy,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “Strong lungs, good color. A fighter, like her mother.”

“Like her father, too,” I say softly.

The blonde woman who’s been supervising my captivity approaches. Her cold eyes are fixed on Sofiya in a way I despise.

“The child must be cleaned and examined,” she says, reaching for my baby.

Something inside me snaps.

“Don’t youfuckingtouch her.” My voice is barely recognizable—crackling, fierce, a lioness’s warning growl.

The woman pauses. “Don’t be ridiculous. You are in no condition?—”

“I said don’t touch her.” I curl my body around Sofiya, ignoring the screaming pain of my torn and battered flesh. “She stays with me.”

“Give me the child, you stupid whore.” She reaches again, more forcefully this time.

I lash out with my free arm, catching her hand and twisting hard enough to make her yelp.

“Touch my daughter, and I will kill you.” The words aren’t mine. They are Vince’s, flowing through me like his blood flows through our child. “I will tear out your throat with my teeth.”

I mean every word.

The woman backs away, nursing her wrist. “You are weak from childbirth. Do not be an idiot.”

“Try me.” I hold Sofiya closer, feeling her tiny heart beating against mine. “My husband is coming. You know he is. And when he gets here, anyone who’s laid a hand on his child will beg for death by the time he’s done with them. Do you really want that for yourself?”

Fear flickers in her eyes. I’m right. She knows I’m right.

“Clean her here,” the doctor intervenes. “The mother should keep the baby skin-to-skin. It’s medically best for them both.”

The woman’s gaze shifts between us. “Fine,” she spits finally. “But if Akopov does not agree to our terms, both will suffer.”

I ignore her threats, focusing entirely on my daughter. Sofiya has stopped crying and is nuzzling against my chest.

“That’s right, baby girl,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. And Daddy’s coming for us.”

The doctor brings a small basin of warm water and some cloths. With gentle movements, he shows me how to clean her while keeping her against my skin. Every touch feels sacred, every tiny limb precious beyond measure.

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