Chapter 6 - THE LONGEST CHRISTMAS
Our daughter was born December twenty-sixth at 2:43 in the morning.
Labor lasted ten hours.
Roman discovered during hour three that commanding contractions to “slow down” was not useful.
During hour five, I told him if he asked whether I needed water one more time, I would divorce him before sunrise.
He stopped asking.
During hour seven, he cried in the hallway because my blood pressure dropped.
Maya found him.
“Get back inside.”
“I’m distracting her.”
“She asked for you.”
That apparently shocked him.
I had.
Despite everything, when pain stripped away pride, I wanted my husband.
Not his money.
Not his men.
Him.
Roman came back and sat beside me.
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Good.”
That mattered.
At 2:31, the fetal monitor changed.
Maya’s expression sharpened.
“What?”
“Her heart rate dipped.”
Roman stood.
“Why?”
Maya ignored him and focused on me.
“Savannah, I need you on your left side.”
Nurses moved quickly.
Oxygen.
Fluids.
More monitoring.
Roman’s face lost all color.
The heart rate recovered.
Then dropped again.
Maya looked at the obstetrician on call.
They spoke quietly.
I understood enough.
“We may need a C-section.”
Roman gripped my hand.
“Do it.”
I glared at him.
He immediately corrected himself.
“Sorry.”
Despite the pain, I laughed.
Even Maya smiled.
The rate stabilized again.
We waited.
Twenty minutes later, I delivered naturally.
Our daughter came into the world screaming.
The loudest, angriest sound I had ever loved.
Roman broke.
There is no more elegant description.
The man who had been shot at twice, arrested once, threatened hundreds of times, and had built a reputation around never showing fear sobbed openly when Maya placed our daughter against my chest.
“Oh my God.”
I was crying too.
“She’s okay?”
“She’s perfect,” Maya said.
Roman touched one tiny foot.
His hand shook.
“What’s her name?” the nurse asked.
We had argued for months.
Roman wanted Alessia.
I wanted Clara.
We had never decided.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
Then said quietly, “You choose.”
That meant more than he knew.
“Clara.”
Roman smiled.
“Clara.”
Her middle name became Sophia.
Our housekeeper cried harder than anyone when we told her.
We remained in the hospital three days.
Not because Clara needed it.
Because federal agents recommended delaying our return while Luca remained missing.
Roman hated it.
But he did not overrule them.
More importantly, he did not overrule me.
When I wanted my mother to visit, she came.
When I wanted Diane—my doula from prenatal classes—she came.
When I told Roman I needed two hours alone with Clara, he left.
He didn’t sulk.
Didn’t assign a guard inside.
Didn’t question me.
He simply kissed Clara’s head.
“I’ll be downstairs.”
Marriage does not repair itself because a baby is born.
People like to tell stories that way.
They’re easier.
The truth is that I still looked at Roman and remembered Celeste in his arms.
Not because I believed he had slept with her.
Because that photograph represented everything he had hidden.
I still remembered asking him to stay.
I still heard you’re emotional.
He could not undo those things by holding our daughter beautifully.
He understood that.
On our second night, he sat beside the window.
“Are you coming home with me?”
The question was quiet.
I looked at Clara sleeping in the bassinet.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
No argument.
No threat.
No reminder about security.
“Where will you go?”
“Maya offered me her guest house.”
His face tightened automatically.
Then relaxed.
“Okay.”
“You hate that.”
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
“But it’s your decision.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the snow outside.
“I want you home.”
“I know.”
“I miss you.”
“I know.”
“I’m terrified that if I give you space, you’ll discover you’re happier without me.”
That was the most honest thing Roman had said in years.
I looked at him.
“And what would you do if I was?”
His eyes filled.
“Let you go.”
My chest hurt.
“Would you?”
“I’m trying to become the man who could.”
That night, Roman slept in the chair.
At 3:00 a.m., Clara cried.
I was exhausted.
Roman woke immediately.
He looked at me.
“May I?”
Such a small question.
I nodded.
He picked her up.
She screamed louder.
I laughed into the pillow.
“She hates me.”
“She’s three days old.”
“She has excellent judgment.”
He paced.
Nothing.
He tried skin-to-skin.
Nothing.
Finally, I said, “Give her to me.”
Old Roman might have tried longer to prove he could solve it.
New Roman handed her over immediately.
She settled within seconds.
He looked offended.
“Unbelievable.”
“She knows quality.”
“Clearly.”
We both laughed.
For a moment, we were us again.
Then Roman’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“They found Luca.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“Indiana.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“What happens now?”
“He’s negotiating surrender.”
“Roman.”
He looked at me.
“Do not go.”
He froze.
This was Christmas Eve again.
Different room.
Different stakes.
Same question.
Stay.
His phone buzzed again.
Roman powered it off.
Placed it on the table.
Then sat beside me.
“I’m staying.”
Something inside me shifted.
Not healed.
But moved.
Agent Hall handled Luca’s surrender.
He was arrested at a motel outside Gary two hours later.
He admitted copying access codes.
Providing my schedule.
Arranging the photographer.
He also admitted helping Carlo locate Celeste.
The agreement he hoped would save his brother would likely cost him years in prison.
Carlo remained missing.
But Luca gave federal investigators enough information to freeze several accounts and raid two properties.
The network began collapsing.
One ugly piece at a time.
Three days later, I left the hospital.
Roman stood beside the exit while a nurse placed Clara’s car seat into Maya’s Volvo.
Not Roman’s armored SUV.
Maya’s Volvo.
He looked like a man watching someone carry away his heart.
“Call me when you arrive.”
“I will.”
“Not because I’m tracking you.”
“I know.”
“I deleted the family tracking app.”
I looked at him.
“You what?”
“Your phone. The location monitor.”
“You had access to it?”
His expression became guilty.
“Yes.”
“Roman.”
“I know.”
I almost started another fight.
Then he said, “That’s why I deleted it.”
I stared at him.
“I should have told you it existed.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I got into the car.
Before Maya closed the door, Roman crouched beside me.
“Savannah?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
He nodded.
That hurt him.
I could see it.
But he accepted it.
No demand for the words back.
We drove away.
For six weeks, Clara and I lived at Maya’s guest house.
Roman visited only when invited.
He attended therapy.
Not because I asked.
Because Agent Hall’s cooperation agreement required psychological evaluation, and his attorney suggested he continue voluntarily.
He did.
He also attended every pediatric appointment.
Sat in the waiting room if I did not want him in the exam room.
Brought coffee.
Changed diapers.
Once arrived forty minutes early because he misunderstood the appointment time and simply waited.
He stopped giving orders disguised as questions.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
Then, one February morning, Agent Hall called.
“We found Carlo.”
Roman and I were both at Clara’s six-week checkup.
“Where?”
“O’Hare.”
I blinked.
“He was leaving?”
“He was entering.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“Why would he come back?”
Agent Hall paused.
“He says he wants to make a deal.”
“What kind?”
“One involving you, Roman.”
Roman looked at me.
Hall continued.
“Carlo claims he has evidence that could send you to prison for twenty years.”
The room became silent.
May you like
And just when I had begun imagining that our family might survive Roman’s past…
his past came home voluntarily.
