Chapter 15 - THE EMPTY ROOM
Z
Victor sold the penthouse two years after marrying Aliyah.
That shocked everyone.
Nikolai asked whether he had a terminal illness.
Jasmine demanded proof Aliyah had not replaced him with a more emotionally stable duplicate.
Victor ignored both.
The truth was simpler.
The penthouse had become too full of ghosts.
He and Aliyah bought a house in Brookline instead.
Old brick.
Three floors.
A backyard large enough for the dog Aliyah kept threatening to adopt.
Victor objected to the dog.
They adopted two.
Their names were Whiskey and Onion.
Victor claimed the second name was humiliating.
Aliyah claimed it honored their love story.
The dogs liked Victor better.
This offended her deeply.
One room remained empty.
At first, it was supposed to be an office.
Then Aliyah suggested a guest room.
Then Victor mentioned bookshelves.
Neither changed it.
For months, the door remained open to white walls.
One Saturday morning, Aliyah stood inside holding a pregnancy test.
Positive.
She stared at it for twelve minutes.
Then took another.
Positive.
Then a third.
Still positive.
Victor was downstairs arguing with a contractor over kitchen tiles.
Aliyah sat on the floor.
Her hands shook.
She had spent years studying pregnancy.
She knew the physiology.
The timelines.
The risks.
None of that prepared her for the terrifying fact that there was suddenly a future inside her body.
She heard Victor approach.
“Aliyah?”
She quickly wiped her face.
Too late.
He appeared in the doorway.
Everything in him changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You are crying.”
“I noticed.”
He crossed the room.
Then saw the tests.
Victor stopped.
Aliyah watched his face.
No smile.
No immediate joy.
Fear.
Raw.
Absolute.
Her stomach sank.
“Victor?”
He sat slowly beside her.
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the test.
Aliyah’s chest tightened.
“Say something.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s not helping.”
Victor looked at her.
“I am happy.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“I am terrified.”
That honesty disarmed her.
“Why?”
Victor laughed once in disbelief.
“Aliyah.”
“Use words.”
His eyes filled.
“Because I can imagine losing something again.”
Her expression softened.
Victor stared at the empty room.
“For years, the solution was simple.”
“Never love anything.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
He touched her stomach cautiously.
“Now there are too many things.”
Aliyah covered his hand.
“I’m scared too.”
That surprised him.
“You are?”
“Of course.”
“You are a nurse.”
“I’m not immune to anxiety because I understand fetal development.”
Victor looked offended by the concept.
“You seem immune to most things.”
“I married you. Clearly my judgment is questionable.”
He smiled.
Then tears slipped down his face.
Aliyah stared.
Victor almost never cried.
He wiped them away irritably.
“Do not tell Nikolai.”
“I’m absolutely telling Nikolai.”
“Aliyah.”
She laughed.
Victor pulled her into his arms.
They sat on the empty room’s floor for almost an hour.
Later, when they told Nikolai, he went silent.
Then walked out.
Aliyah frowned.
“Did we break him?”
Victor looked equally confused.
Nikolai returned carrying a bottle of champagne.
Then stopped.
“She cannot drink this.”
Aliyah burst out laughing.
Victor took the bottle.
“I can.”
“No,” Aliyah said.
Victor sighed.
Pregnancy did not turn Aliyah fragile.
Victor had to be reminded of this daily.
At eight weeks, he tried to replace every staircase with an elevator.
At twelve weeks, he researched the chemical composition of household cleaners.
At sixteen weeks, Aliyah discovered he had purchased an industrial air filtration system.
“You know babies have survived regular air before?”
“Boston pollution is measurable.”
“So is your insanity.”
At nineteen weeks, during the anatomy scan, Victor held her hand so tightly she lost feeling in two fingers.
The technician smiled.
“Would you like to know the sex?”
Aliyah looked at Victor.
He nodded.
“A girl.”
Victor stopped breathing.
Aliyah turned.
His eyes were fixed on the screen.
Their daughter moved.
A tiny hand.
A beating heart.
Victor whispered something in Russian.
“What did you say?”
He swallowed.
“Hello, little one.”
Aliyah cried.
Victor pretended not to notice because he was crying too.
That evening, they entered the empty room.
Victor carried a paint catalog.
Aliyah stared.
“What is that?”
“We should prepare.”
“You refused to discuss furniture for four months.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Clearly.”
Victor opened the catalog.
“I dislike pink.”
“She’s not going to file a complaint.”
“I still dislike it.”
Aliyah sat on the windowsill.
“What about blue?”
Victor looked at her.
Blue.
Elena’s color.
The embroidered E.
The sapphire beside Aliyah’s wedding ring.
Victor smiled faintly.
“Blue.”
They painted the room together.
Victor was terrible at it.
Aliyah took photographs as evidence.
The nursery slowly filled.
Books.
A crib.
A rocking chair.
One framed photograph of Denise Brooks.
Another of Elena.
Victor hesitated when Aliyah placed Elena’s picture on the shelf.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“She isn’t related to our daughter.”
Aliyah looked at him.
“She’s part of the reason her father became the man he is.”
Victor’s eyes filled.
Aliyah continued.
“My mother too.”
They stood before the two photographs.
Two women.
Both gone.
Both present in everything that came after.
Months later, Aliyah woke at three in the morning.
Pain.
Warmth.
Then panic.
“Victor.”
He sat up instantly.
“My water broke.”
Victor Malenkov, a man who had survived shootings, federal investigations, betrayal, and organized crime, completely lost his mind.
“Now?”
Aliyah stared.
“No, next Thursday.”
He was already dressing.
Wrong shirt.
Two different socks.
Aliyah would laugh about that later.
At the hospital, labor lasted eighteen hours.
Victor stayed every second.
At hour fourteen, Aliyah grabbed his shirt.
“I hate you.”
“I understand.”
“This is your fault.”
“Biologically, that is only partially—”
“Victor.”
“I apologize.”
At 9:42 p.m., their daughter arrived.
Seven pounds.
Dark hair.
Very loud.
The nurse placed her against Aliyah’s chest.
Victor stood beside the bed.
Frozen.
“Come here,” Aliyah whispered.
He approached.
“Hold her.”
His face went pale.
“She is extremely small.”
“She’s a baby.”
“I may break her.”
“You won’t.”
Victor sat.
Aliyah placed their daughter in his arms.
For twelve years, Victor had feared touch because the last person he loved had died against him.
Now a newborn slept against his chest.
Alive.
Warm.
Trusting him without knowing anything about who he had once been.
Victor cried openly.
“What are we calling her?” the nurse asked.
Aliyah looked at Victor.
They had discussed dozens of names.
But in that moment, they both knew.
“Denise Elena Malenkov,” Aliyah said.
Victor closed his eyes.
Two women remembered in one new life.
He kissed his daughter’s forehead.
And whispered:
“You will never have to earn love in this family.”
Aliyah’s heart broke open.
May you like
Because that promise was not only for the baby.
It was for Victor too.
