She faded in and out of sleep for a long time. Maksim and her body aches were always there when she woke up.

She asked when she would see the babies once, twice, five times. She listened closely, hoping to pick out a baby's cry, but it never came. Her ears only heard static, and her arms remained empty.

Eventually, she realized that the babies wouldn't be coming.

The pain medication and sedatives took the fight out of her, but her heart wouldn't be defeated. It ached day and night as she cried.

Maksim sat beside her as she wasted away. He was trying to be strong for her, but she knew that he was decaying, too. His head remained on the mattress, his shame too heavy to allow him to lift it and meet her eyes.

They didn't speak in one, two– she lost track of the days. When he started feeding her, they made eye contact, and the only thing she could manage to rasp was, "I even failed my babies."

She was a failure of a daughter, a failure of a citizen, a failure of a mother.

No matter how much Maksim brushed her hair back and whispered against her cheek that she wasn't to blame, no matter how tightly he gripped her hand, no matter how much he cried with her, she didn't believe him.

The only thing she mothered was failure.

He was taking her home that day. The wheelchair was propped beside the bed, and the curtains of the windows were spread wider than usual. Maksim was a little more enthusiastic, desperate to get more signs of life out of her.

She stared at the wheelchair, and then at the breast-pump on her lap. This was always the hardest part of the day. Having to pump the nutrition that her body made for her boys and disposing it because it was no longer needed.

Maksim waited outside to give her privacy, but she knew he was beside the door, listening for signs of distress. For signs of a suicide attempt.

Her eyes found the butter knife on the bedside table.

Suicide. It was a tempting thought.

She sat up on the pillows and the shift irritated her c-section scar. She felt maimed and robbed. Ugly and fruitless.

She put the pump aside and stared at the contents of milk– the last proof that she had her babies inside of her.

Maksim walked in, and she didn't look away as he carried her off the bed and onto the wheelchair.

"We're going home, and I'll be right beside you."

He wouldn't be enough. She wanted her children; those that accompanied her through 8 months of grief, joy, and hope. They made her see life in a different way. They sent her to new adventures anywhere from the toilet to puke, to the supermarket to buy ice cream, to YouTube, to New York as she tried to reconquer their father's love.

Without them, she was literally and figuratively empty.

Maksim tucked a blanket around her, securing it around her hips and accidentally skimming her bare womb.

She lowered her face to hide her tears, and Maksim began to roll her out. She heard and saw things in her peripheral vision, but she had no motivation to explore the world anymore.

Maksim helped her into a car seat, and then they were off. The only thing she noticed was that he brought her to a new penthouse. There were no baby clothes or piggy banks here. Fewer reminders.

He helped her to the bed, and as usual, kneeled beside it.

This was a mess. Dirt was everywhere. Their flowers had been crushed; their relationship uprooted. The mess was so chaotic and ugly that it was jarring.

They had nothing to say to each other, but a million things to tell their babies.

The world would stop being cruel once it allowed one to speak to ghosts.

Maksim remained kneeling for a long time, denting his expensive leather shoes for all the wrong reasons.

When she moved her legs to go to the bathroom, he stood.

"I'm fine."

She stood on her own feet as Maksim watched on. This was the first time in a while that she went unassisted.

She looked down and saw her toes.

Toes.

She fell into a heap of cries, because this was the first time she saw her feet in months. The bump always blocked her view. Now that it was gone, she had her view, but she didn't have her bump.

– Three months later –

Maksim recovered from grief faster than she did. Now, he was raging.

He tried to keep his calm around her, but she knew he was desperate for blood. He slept in a bed beside her to watch over her. They barely talked and much less touched, but his anger was palpable.

The search for culprits was still ongoing. When Raelynn accused Daniel as a suspect, Maksim tore through every connection he had to unmask Daniel.

And unmasking, he did.

Daniel's real name was Demyan Kuznetsov.

Maksim's little brother wasn't dead after all. He had been taken off Russian to the United States at thirteen because Maksim's father didn't want a "disgraced son."

Daniel wasn't behind the attack, though. He had only been trying to keep tabs on his family through Raelynn.

Maksim's family drama was a whole other demon. He was infuriated with his father, but his focus was on the murder of the babies.

"I'm going on a walk," she said as she stood off her bed.

The therapist recommended it. Since she lost interest in everything, being on her feet and exposed to different scenes was supposed to spark a new flame.

Raelynn doubted it, but she tried anyway.

"Do you want me to join you?"

"No, thank you."

He asked every time, but she always replied the same thing.

Her guards were stiff as they followed. Many things were different now. She no longer brought then food, and they were on higher guard.

She walked through the more silent side of the park where there were no children.

Her breasts ached with the need to be pumped. She looked down. Her toes were still there.

Miserably, she weaved through the park. The sun was bright, but the black-hole in her chest absorbed and destroyed it.

Depression.

She felt like an imposter walking through the lively park. An imposter in her own skin, because her heart felt dead although her blood kept pumping.

A woman stood across the street. Raelynn recognized her instantly. It was Maksim's mother. Why was that insane woman there? Why did she keep coming back, even when Raelynn lost the babies that she would have called grandchildren?

Knowing that the guards would shoot her down if she tried to get close to the penthouse, Raelynn crossed the street to approach her.

She ignored her guards who tried to stop her, wanting to get her answers.

"Why are you here?" she rasped. "You are not welcome here."

Maksim's mother scanned her from head to toe. "I heard about my grandchil–"

Raelynn shook her head. "They were never yours."

The woman looked behind her to assess the guards, and then whispered, "Они сейчас. И я буду для них лучшей матерью, чем ты когда-либо могла бы быть."

(They are now, and I'll be a better mother to them than you ever could be.) *confirmation that the twins were taken*

"What?" Raelynn replied. She didn't understand, because her knowledge of Russian was still amateurish.

"I said a prayer to help you heal from your loss."

Raelynn took a step back. "Please, don't return."

"Прощай"

This word, Raelynn recognized. It meant goodbye.

She walked a few feet to reach her guards. She wanted to go indoors. The sunlight hadn't helped her heal today.

She went home, took a shower, and kept her eyes on the wall as she always did as she washed herself. She couldn't look at that scar on her abdomen. It would tear her up.

She changed and sat on the bed. There were unfinished books on the nightstand, a large TV on the wall, a laptop on a chair. She had many options for entertainment, but zero motivation or interest to reach for them.

"Raelynn?" Maksim opened the door to check in on her.

Instead of muttering, "I'm fine," like she usually did, she sat up.

"Why... did your father not kill her? Isn't that what the mafia does to those that wrong them?"

Maksim didn't look surprised by the question. He walked to her bed and kneeled beside it.

"My mother belongs to a powerful family, and father didn't want to fight them. He was a calculative man, so he threw her into an insane asylum. Her family pulled her out and transferred her to the United States. She has been stalking Viktor and I because we are the only ones who reside here. My other siblings prefer Russia. I had no idea... that he faked Demyan's death, too."

It was all fucked up.

They sat in silence, close but far. They were like two strangers sharing a subway cart.

"Maksim?"

"Yes?"

"I... I want to leave. Leave New York, leave... you. Everything here reminds me of them."

Maksim lowered his head so his forehead reached her knee, and a knot formed in her empty womb.