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The house was quiet , scarily quiet in a way that never felt natural. At least not for the Hollander-Rozanov household.
Shane sat at the kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a mug of spearmint tea that had long since gone cold. The pale morning light filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across the room. The sound of loons echoing in the distance, it was peaceful and serene.
Normally the silence would have brought Shane some comfort, but over the last year it had grown heavy—filled with things unsaid, memories that lingered, and a grief that seemed to settle into the walls.
Across from him, his mother, Yuna, watched him carefully. She had always had that ability—to read him before he said a single word. She knew him better than he knew himself. In a way that was scarier than the silence surrounding him.
"You've been staring at that tea of yours for ten minutes," she said gently. The softness of her voice doing nothing to sooth her son's nervous energy. "What's going on with you?"
Shane huffed out a quiet breath and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. His shoulders were tense, like he'd been carrying something far too heavy for far too long.
"Nothing. Im just- I'm thinking," he muttered.
"I can see that."
Yuna leaned back slightly in her chair, giving him space while still offering the steady presence he'd always relied on. She had drove out to visit for a few days, sensing over the phone that something had shifted. That her boys may need her.
And she had been right.
Shane finally looked up at her, his expression conflicted—fear and determination tangled together in his eyes.
"I made a decision," he said quietly. "A really important one."
Yuna raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
Shane swallowed hard. "I erm- I think I'm going to carry a baby."
For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air between them.
Yuna blinked once in surprise.
Not because the idea of a baby shocked her. She knew how badly Shane and Ilya wanted a family of their own.
No.
The surprise came from the fact that the words had come from Shane himself. For years, the thought of pregnancy alone had terrified him.
"You're serious?" she asked softly.
Shane nodded slowly. "Y- Yeah I am."
He looked down at his hands again, fingers twisting together. "I know it's... a lot. And I know how I used to react whenever it came up." He let out a humorless laugh. "I practically had a panic attack the first time Ilya mentioned it, but-"
Yuna reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "That was before," she said.
Shane's jaw tightened.
Before.
The word carried too many memories. Haunted him in way he never knew a word could.
And just like that, his mind drifted back. Back to the beginning. When everything was good.
For years, Shane had been firmly against the idea of being the one to carry their child. Don't get him wrong , He loved the idea of a family. The thought of little footsteps around the house, bedtime stories, teaching a kid how to skate... that had always been a dream he shared with Ilya.
But pregnancy?
That was something else entirely. His career in hockey had always been everything and more. He had worked for it tirelessly. His body was his livelihood. His routine, his training, his physical strength—it all mattered.
The idea of putting that on hold, of going through something so physically unknown, had terrified him. And the truth was, Shane hated the unknown.
He liked plans. Schedules. Predictability. Pregnancy was none of those things.
So whenever the conversation came up, he shut it down immediately. "I can't do it," he'd said countless times. "I just can't."
Ilya had never pushed him.
That was one of the things Shane loved most about him. Instead, Ilya had simply nodded thoughtfully and said casually one day after their wedding, "Then I will carry."
Shane had blinked at him across their kitchen table. "You would?"
Ilya smiled softly. "Of course. Perks of having two carriers in relationship da?"
And just like that, the decision had been made.
The pregnancy happened almost immediately.
Neither of them had expected it to happen so fast.
But it did. Two pink lines. A stunned silence. Then laughter. Then tears.
Shane still remembered the way Ilya had stood there in the bathroom holding the test with wide, disbelieving eyes. "We're... having a baby," he whispered.
Shane had pulled him into his arms and buried his face in his shoulder. "Yeah," he breathed.
Their baby.
The pregnancy itself had been smooth. Almost unbelievably so. No complications. No scares.
Ilya glowed in a way Shane had never seen before. There was a quiet joy about him that seemed to radiate through everything he did.
Shane attended every appointment he could between games and practices. The first time they heard the heartbeat, he cried. Actually cried. Ilya squeezed his hand the whole time.
"Strong," the doctor had said with a smile.
Their son.
Because that's what he was.
A boy. They had found out at twenty weeks.
They had painted the nursery a soft shade of blue.
Ilya spent evenings sitting in the rocking chair with one hand resting on his growing belly, humming quietly. Sometimes Shane would sit beside him and rest his head there too. "Hey little guy," he'd whisper. "It's Daddy."
Everything had felt perfect.
Until it wasn't.
The day everything changed started like any other.
Shane had been at practice when his phone rang.
He almost didn't answer. But something deep within his gut had told him to. "Ilya?" he said when he picked up.
There was the sound of panic on the other end of the line.
And pain.
"Shane..." Ilya's voice trembled. "Something's wrong."
The next few hours blurred together in Shane's memory. The hospital. Doctors rushing around them. Alarms. Confusion. The words placental abruption were spoken in urgent tones. Shane didn't fully understand what it meant. Only that it was bad. Very bad. Thirty-two weeks. Too early. Too sudden. Too unfair.
The emergency delivery happened in a whirlwind of chaos and fear. Shane held Ilya's hand the entire time he was with him before the doors closed on his face. He tried to be strong. Tried to tell himself everything would be okay. But deep down, he knew something was terribly wrong. When their son was born, the room behind the solid wall was silent. Too silent. The doctors worked quickly. He could hear them. But Shane saw the look on one nurse's faces as they exited that room. And his heart shattered before anyone had the chance to say the words.
Their little boy had been sleeping. Already safe and away from the world and all of its troubles.
The grief that followed was something Shane wouldn't wish on anyone. It felt like drowning. Every day. Every moment. It was a blur of agonising pain and confusion.
They had held their son. Memorised his tiny features. Ilya's pouty lips and Shane's ears. The mop of light brown hair slicked to his head. Each and every fingernail.
They said goodbye far too soon.
And as if losing their baby boy wasn't devastating enough, the complications didn't stop there.
The placental abruption had caused catastrophic damage. Ilya's life had been in danger. The doctors had done everything they could. But in the end, there was only one way to save him. A full hysterectomy. Shane remembered sitting beside Ilya's hospital bed as the doctor explained it. The words barely registered. No more pregnancies. No more chances.
Their dream—gone in a single devastating moment.
Ilya had sobs hysterically. Shane had held him.
And somehow they survived the worst year of their lives together.
One day at a time.
The present returned slowly. Yuna's hand pressing against his back being the thing to snap him out of his daze. Shane blinked as he sat at the kitchen table with his heart heavy and eyes blurry.
A year had passed.
But some days it still felt like yesterday.
"I can't just sit here and watch him go through all of this grief forever," Shane said quietly.
Yuna squeezed his hand. "He isn't alone in it."
"I know." Shane's voice cracked slightly. "But I was the one who always refused to even consider carrying." His chest tightened. "I was so scared of it. Of what it would do to my career. My body. Everything."
"And now?" Yuna asked.
Shane took a slow breath. "Now I'm more scared of never trying again." The words felt raw but honest.
"Ilya lost almost everything that day," he continued softly. "Our baby. His ability to carry again. And he never once blamed me."
Yuna's eyes softened.
"He loves you."
"I know."
Shane looked down again. "And I love him."
He paused. "And I want our family."
The words were simple.
But they carried the weight of everything he had been holding inside.
Yuna smiled warmly. "Oh, honey," she said.
She stood up and pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you."
Shane closed his eyes.
"You think he'll be happy?"
Yuna laughed softly. "Happy? Shane, that man is going to be over the moon."
Two days later was when Shane, finally found the courage.
Ilya was sitting on the couch when Shane walked into the living room. He looked up from the book he'd been reading. "Hey," he said softly.
Shane sat down beside him, suddenly nervous.
His heart pounded. "I need to tell you something."
Ilya immediately looked concerned. "What is it?"
Shane took a deep breath. "I've er- I've been thinking a lot lately."
Ilya waited patiently. Shane forced the words out before fear could stop him. "I want to carry our baby."
For a moment, Ilya didn't move.
He just stared at Shane like he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Then his eyes filled with tears.
"Shane..." His voice broke. "You don't have to do that just to make me happy."
Shane shook his head immediately. "No. That's not why." He reached out and took Ilya's hands.
"It's not about fixing anything. Or trying to make you happy. And it's not about replacing what we lost either." His throat tightened. "Our son will always be our son."
Ilya nodded through his tears.
Shane squeezed his hands gently.
"But this... this is about giving us a chance."
"A chance at what?" Ilya whispered.
Shane smiled softly despite the tears in his own eyes. "At finally living our dream life together."
He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
"At becoming a family."
Later that night after Shane told him of his decision, Ilya found himself stretched long and restless. Sleep never really came these days. When it did it was plagued with nightmares and terror. Sometimes it felt easier to lay alone awake with his only his thoughts.
Ilya lay on his side in the dark, staring at the faint shapes the streetlights painted across the ceiling. Beside him, Shane's breathing had eventually settled into the slow rhythm of sleep, one arm still loosely draped over Ilya's waist as if he'd fallen asleep mid-embrace. But as always, Ilya's mind refused to quiet. He should have been happy.
He had dreamed of this moment for over a year—of somehow finding a way forward, of building the family that had been ripped away from them so suddenly.
When Shane had spoken the words earlier that evening, Ilya had felt a surge of emotion so overwhelming he'd broken down almost immediately. I want to carry our baby.
The words echoed again now.
His chest tightened. He shifted carefully so he wouldn't wake Shane and slipped out of bed.
The house was silent as he padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water but didn't drink it right away, instead leaning against the counter as the memories came back. They always did at night. The hospital. The blinding white lights. The frantic voices.
Placental abruption.
Even now the term made his stomach twist.
Medically, it meant the placenta had prematurely separated from the uterine wall. Normally the placenta remained attached until after the baby was delivered, acting as the life-support system between parent and child—supplying oxygen, nutrients, blood flow. But when it detached too early, everything changed. The baby could lose oxygen within minutes. The parent could hemorrhage internally. Sometimes both.
Sometimes neither survived. Ilya remembered the first sign something had been wrong.
The pain had come suddenly—sharp and deep in his abdomen. At first he'd thought it might just be a muscle strain. Thirty-two weeks pregnant meant his body had been under constant pressure anyway. But then there had been bleeding. Too much. And the baby had stopped moving. His hand tightened around the glass.
By the time Shane reached the hospital, the doctors were already moving quickly. Monitors had been attached to his stomach, but the fetal heart rate they'd been tracking for months had slowed dangerously. The placenta had sheared away from the uterine wall, the doctor later explained.
It had likely been sudden and catastrophic. There had been nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. Nothing.
Ilya closed his eyes.
Even after the emergency delivery, the nightmare hadn't stopped. The placental separation had triggered severe internal bleeding. His uterus had struggled to contract afterward, a complication called uterine atony. Blood loss escalated quickly.
They tried medications first—oxytocin to stimulate contractions, then additional drugs designed to tighten the uterine muscles and reduce haemorrhage. But the bleeding didn't stop.The damage was too extensive. Eventually a surgeon had come in with the words no one wanted to hear.
Emergency hysterectomy. Removal of the uterus.
It was the only way to save his life.
At the time, Ilya had barely processed what it meant. He was still numb from losing their son.
It was only weeks later, once the physical healing began, that the deeper loss set in. He would never carry another child.
Ever.
The sound of footsteps behind him made him jump slightly.
"Couldn't sleep?" Shane's voice was thick with sleep.
Ilya turned and saw him standing in the doorway, hair messy and eyes still half-closed.
"Sorry," Ilya murmured.
Shane walked over slowly and rested his hands on Ilya's hips.
"You okay?"
That question always felt complicated.
"I'm thinking," Ilya said quietly.
Shane nodded. "About what I said."
It wasn't really a question. Ilya looked down at the glass in his hand. "You're serious about it?"
"Yeah." Shane didn't hesitate. "I've thought about it a lot."
Ilya studied his face carefully, searching for even the slightest hint of doubt. Pregnancy wasn't simple. Especially not for someone like Shane.
Professional hockey demanded constant physical conditioning. Muscle mass, cardiovascular endurance, reaction speed—everything about his body was tuned for performance. Pregnancy would change that. Hormones alone could affect balance, stamina, joint stability. Relaxin, one of the primary pregnancy hormones, loosened ligaments in preparation for childbirth, which could increase injury risk. Ilya had been aware of all of this and yet it hadn't mattered to him. But it mattered to Shane: 'Not exactly ideal for someone skating at high speed while colliding with other athletes.' He'd say as the panic took over.
And that was just the beginning. He'd spiral more and more every time Ilya brought it up. That's exactly why they'd gotten Ilya pregnant instead!
"I don't think you fully understand what pregnancy does to a body," Ilya said carefully.
Shane gave a small smile. "I probably don't."
"That's not something you just jump into."
"I know."
Ilya set the glass down. "There's nausea. Hormonal changes. Blood volume increases by almost fifty percent. Your heart works harder. Your center of gravity shifts." He paused. "Organs literally move to make space."
Shane blinked once.
"Okay, that one's a little terrifying."
Despite himself, Ilya huffed out a faint laugh.
But it faded quickly. "And that's when everything goes normally," he added.
The silence between them thickened.
Shane reached out and took Ilya's hands. "I'm not doing this blindly."
"What do you mean?"
"I've already contacted a specialist. Had a chat about what things I would need in place. We have an appointment booked."
Ilya stared. "You... what?"
Shane rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "After I talked to my mom."
"You scheduled a consultation without telling me?"
"Just an informational one," Shane said quickly. "I wanted to understand what it would actually involve before bringing it up to you."
Ilya's emotions twisted into something complicated. Part of him felt touched. Another part felt strangely unsettled. "When?" he asked quietly.
"Next week."
Ilya nodded slowly. "Okay." But even as he said it, something inside him tightened. Because the truth was... he hadn't expected this to be real.
When Shane first said the words earlier that evening, it had felt almost hypothetical. A possibility. A comforting promise. Now there were doctors involved. Medical consultations. Plans.
And suddenly the idea of someone else carrying their child—Shane carrying their child—felt far more overwhelming than he'd imagined. Shane noticed the shift in his expression. "What's wrong?"
Ilya hesitated. Then he admitted the truth.
"I thought I'd be happier."
Shane's brow furrowed. "Y-You're not?"
"I am," Ilya said quickly. And he meant it. "I am happy. That was not the right words I'm sorry."
But happiness wasn't the only emotion present.
"I just didn't expect it to bring everything back so - er strongly."
Shane's expression softened. "The thought of going back to a hospital?"
Ilya nodded. "That. Also, The pregnancy. The appointments. The scans." His voice lowered.
"The fear."
Because pregnancy wasn't just hope. It was vulnerability. Every week came with statistics, risks, medical terminology that no one wanted to learn the hard way.Miscarriage rates. Placental complications.Preterm labor.
Shane pulled him into a hug. "You don't have to rush into feeling okay about it. As long as you're telling me you're happy going forward with this , that's all I need."
Ilya rested his forehead against Shane's shoulder.
"I thought I had accepted everything."
"You have."
"But this..." Ilya whispered, "this makes it real - raw again."
Shane held him tighter. "Then we face it together."
Ilya closed his eyes.
Together.
That word helped. Because even if the road ahead terrified him more than he expected... he wasn't walking it alone. And neither was Shane.
—————————————————————————-
The fertility clinic was quieter than Shane expected. The waiting room was softly lit, the walls painted in calming shades of pale blue and gray. A row of large windows overlooked the street below, letting in a soft wash of winter sunlight. A few other couples sat scattered around the room—some whispering to one another, others staring nervously at paperwork or their phones.
Shane sat beside Ilya with his fingers loosely interlocked with his husband's. Even through the simple touch he could feel the tension there. Ilya's hand was colder than usual.
"Hey," Shane murmured quietly. Ilya glanced at him. “You okay?"
A small pause.
"Yeah." It wasn't convincing.
Shane didn't push, though. They had both been quiet since leaving the house that morning, each lost in their own thoughts. This visit felt bigger than a normal doctor's appointment. Because walking into a fertility clinic meant something.
It meant they were actually considering trying again.
The hallway door opened.
"Shane Hollander?" Both men looked up.
A woman in her early forties stood there with a warm but professional smile. Her badge read Dr. Elena Vasquez – Reproductive Endocrinology & Fertility Medicine.
Shane stood first, helping Ilya up out of habit even though he didn't need it.
"That's us," Shane said.
"Come on back."
The consultation room felt less clinical than Shane expected. Two comfortable chairs faced the doctor's desk, and the walls held anatomical diagrams of reproductive systems and fetal development stages. Dr. Vasquez sat down and opened a tablet. “Before we begin," she said gently, "I want to tell you both how sorry I am for your loss."
Ilya stiffened slightly beside Shane. Shane squeezed his hand. The ache in their hearts forever permanent.
"I reviewed both of your medical history from the hospital," the doctor continued. "Ilya, you suffered a Placental abruption at thirty-two weeks? It is one of the most traumatic obstetric complications a family can experience." Ilya nodded once, his jaw tightening. “But it is also something that is completely out of your control. I’m sure it’s something you’ve heard before, but I just wanted you to hear it again.”
Dr. Vasquez shifted her focus toward Shane.
"You mentioned during the intake call that you're a natural male carrier, correct?"
"Yeah." Shane cleared his throat. “I've always had a functional reproductive system. I just... never planned on using it."
"That's perfectly valid," the doctor said kindly.
She tapped the tablet again and pulled up a general reproductive diagram. “In individuals with your physiology, the reproductive organs include functional ovaries capable of producing ova, a uterus capable of supporting implantation, and a cervix and birth canal allowing for pregnancy and delivery." Shane listened carefully.
"Ilya carried our son," he said quietly. “So I remember this all being explained to him. I pay attention to detail.”
Dr. Vasquez nodded.
"Yes, You tend to pick up on information more when you’re sitting on the sidelines. Now, I hate to bring it up again but I’m sure one of your main concerns is that the abruption will happen to you Shane, correct?” The couple nodded hesitantly. Of course it was a concern, it was absolutely terrifying. “I understand , Ilya’s pregnancy progressed normally until the placental abruption occurred." She turned her sympathetic gaze to Ilya briefly.
"That complication unfortunately occurs in only roughly one percent of pregnancies. In severe cases it can lead to rapid placental separation, fetal oxygen deprivation, and paternal hemorrhage. Which is sadly what happened to you.” Ilya's fingers tightened around Shane's. Shane could feel it immediately. “That other ninety nine percent includes many, many successful pregnancies. I know it is a concern and the likelihood is nothing I say will ease it. But I promise you, it is a very , very slim chance that this will happen to you both again.”
Dr. Vasquez continued carefully. “So, moving on from that. Today we're focusing on your reproductive health, Shane, and whether there are any barriers to pregnancy.”
Shane nodded. “Okay."
"The first step in evaluating fertility involves a few standard tests." She began listing them. “Bloodwork to evaluate hormone levels. Specifically follicle-stimulating hormone (FSH), luteinizing hormone (LH), estradiol, progesterone, and anti-Müllerian hormone."
Shane frowned slightly. “What do those do?"
"FSH and LH regulate ovulation," she explained. "They stimulate the ovaries to mature and release eggs. Estradiol and progesterone help regulate the menstrual cycle and prepare the uterine lining for implantation." She pointed to the chart. “Anti-Müllerian hormone gives us an estimate of ovarian reserve—the number of viable eggs remaining."
Shane absorbed that slowly. “So basically... you're checking if everything works."
"Exactly." She scrolled further. “We'll also perform a trans anal ultrasound."
Shane blinked. “A what?"
"It's a common imaging procedure," Dr. Vasquez explained calmly. "A small ultrasound probe is inserted anally to visualize the uterus and ovaries."
She gestured to the diagram. “This allows us to measure ovarian follicles, examine the thickness of the endometrial lining, and rule out structural abnormalities like fibroids or polyps."
Ilya shifted slightly in his seat. The word ultrasound hit too close to home. “Yes, I had one of those. Was very awkward.”
Dr. Vasquez nodded in acknowledgment before she continued. “We may also run a hysterosalpingogram depending on the results."
Shane raised an eyebrow. “That sounds intense."
"It's actually fairly routine. A contrast dye is introduced through the cervix while X-ray imaging tracks the dye through the uterus and fallopian tubes."
"What does that tell you?"
"It allows us to confirm that the fallopian tubes are open and unobstructed. Blockages can prevent fertilization or embryo transport."
Shane nodded slowly. “Okay."
Dr. Vasquez looked between them. “If everything looks healthy, then conception could occur naturally through intercourse." She added gently,
"Or we could consider assisted methods if needed."
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Then Shane asked the question that had been lingering in his mind. “And pregnancy would just... work?"
Dr. Vasquez gave a small smile. “Your body is already biologically capable of pregnancy. Once fertilization occurs, the embryo would travel through the fallopian tube and implant in the uterine lining." She continued matter-of-factly.
"From there, the placenta forms to establish blood flow between the parent and fetus. Hormones like human chorionic gonadotropin—hCG—maintain the pregnancy during early development."
Placenta.
The word landed in the room like a dropped weight. Ilya's breathing faltered. His eyes had locked onto the fetal development chart hanging on the wall.Tiny embryos.Umbilical cords. Placental circulation diagrams. His chest tightened suddenly. The doctor kept speaking.
"Throughout pregnancy the uterus expands dramatically—up to twenty times its normal size—while blood volume increases by nearly fifty percent to support fetal oxygenation."
Ilya's vision blurred. Placental circulation. Blood flow. Separation. He could hear monitors again.
Hear the doctors shouting. See the red staining the hospital sheets.
"Ilya?" Shane's voice sounded distant.
His breathing had grown too fast. His hands trembled in his lap.
Dr. Vasquez noticed immediately. “Ilya, look at me."
But Ilya couldn't pull his gaze away from the chart.
Placenta. Umbilical cord. Thirty-two weeks. The moment the heartbeat disappeared.
"I can't—" His voice cracked.
Shane stood instantly and moved beside him. “Hey, hey," he murmured.
Ilya's lungs felt like they were collapsing inward.
"I thought I could do this," he whispered shakily. "I thought talking about it would be easier but—" His breathing turned ragged. The memory slammed into him all at once.
The pain.
The blood.
The moment the doctor said they were losing their baby. “I can't go through that again."
Shane crouched in front of him immediately. “You're not." His voice was soft but firm. “Ilya, look at me, baby.”
Slowly, Ilya forced his eyes down. Shane placed a steady hand on the back of his neck. “Breathe with me."
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
And again.
Dr. Vasquez waited quietly, giving them space.
"This is a very common trauma response after pregnancy and infant loss," she said gently once Ilya's breathing began to slow. “There's nothing wrong with you. Don’t be ashamed of having feelings.”
Ilya wiped at his eyes, embarrassed. “I'm sorry."
"Please don't apologize," the doctor said. “What you experienced was medically and emotionally catastrophic. Your brain is trying to protect you."
Shane squeezed his hand again. “We can stop," he said softly. “We don’t have to do this.”
Ilya shook his head weakly. “No." His voice trembled. “I just didn't realize how much this would bring back."
Dr. Vasquez nodded understandingly. “Grief and hope often exist in the same space when families try again after loss." She looked at both of them.
"And it's okay if moving forward takes time."
Shane pressed a kiss to Ilya's temple. “Then we take all the time we need." Because this journey wasn't just about fertility. It was about healing.
And healing never followed a straight line.
It took another five minutes for Ilya to feel somewhat calm enough to move into the ultrasound room. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and ultrasound gel. Shane sat on the padded medical table with a thin paper sheet draped across his lap while Dr. Vasquez reviewed the bloodwork results on her tablet.
Ilya sat in a chair beside the table, arms folded loosely, though Shane could see the subtle tension still lingering in his posture from earlier. The panic attack had passed, but the emotional aftershocks remained.
Dr. Vasquez looked up with a small, reassuring smile. “Your hormone panel looks very healthy, Shane."
Shane straightened slightly. “Good healthy or just... not bad healthy?"
"Very good," Dr Vaquez clarified. She turned the tablet so they could both see the numbers.
"Your follicle-stimulating hormone and luteinizing hormone levels are well within optimal reproductive ranges. That means the signals between your brain and ovaries appear to be functioning normally."
Shane leaned forward. “So ovulation should work?"
"Yes," she said. "Based on these values, your body should still produce and release mature eggs during your cycle." She tapped another section of the results. “Your anti-Müllerian hormone is also strong. That suggests a healthy ovarian reserve."
Ilya finally spoke. “What exactly does that measure?"
Dr. Vasquez nodded approvingly at the question.
"Anti-Müllerian hormone is produced by the small follicles in the ovaries that contain immature eggs. Higher levels generally indicate a greater number of remaining eggs."
Shane blinked. “So... fertility basically?"
"In simplified terms, yes."
For the first time since arriving at the clinic, a small spark of hope flickered across Ilya's face.
Dr. Vasquez stood. “The next step is imaging."
She gestured toward the end of the exam table.
"As I explained before, we’ll perform a trans anal ultrasound to examine the uterus and ovaries."
Shane nodded, though his nerves kicked in slightly.
"I've never had one of those before. My cycles are pretty regular for a carrier so there was never any reason for me to need one.”
"That's perfectly normal." She handed him a gown. “You can change behind the curtain. Leave the gown open in the front."
A few minutes later Shane was positioned back on the table with his feet resting in padded supports. Ilya stayed near the head of the bed, one hand loosely resting on Shane's arm. The ultrasound machine hummed quietly beside them.
Dr. Vasquez placed a protective sheath over the slender ultrasound probe and applied clear gel.
"This device uses high-frequency sound waves," she explained as she worked. "Those waves bounce off internal structures and create images in real time."
Shane nodded nervously. “Okay." She gently inserted the probe. The feeling made him want to cringe and pull back, but he couldn’t. This was too important. He had to have all the reassurance he needed for him to do this.
The screen flickered to life. Immediately, gray shapes appeared. It all looked so foreign and unusual. It was slightly triggering.
Dr. Vasquez pointed. “That's the uterus."
Shane squinted. “Looks like a sideways pear."
"That's actually a good comparison," she said with a small laugh. "The uterus normally measures about seven to eight centimeters long in someone who hasn't previously carried a pregnancy." She moved the probe slightly.
"But in people who are capable of pregnancy, the uterine muscle is extremely elastic. By the third trimester it can expand enough to accommodate a full-term fetus, placenta, and amniotic fluid. It’s rather impressive when you think about the size it starts off as.”
Ilya watched the screen carefully.
Dr. Vasquez measured the lining. “Endometrial thickness looks excellent," she said. "That lining is where an embryo would implant after fertilization. You lose it during your cycles, but I’m sure you’re already aware of all this.” She rotated the probe slightly. “Here are the ovaries."
Two small oval structures appeared on the screen.
"Each of these dark circles is a follicle," she continued. "They contain immature eggs. During a normal cycle, one dominant follicle matures and releases an egg during ovulation."
Shane stared at the screen in fascination.
"So one of those could be our baby someday."
Dr. Vasquez smiled softly. “Yes." She finished the imaging and gently removed the probe, allowing Shane a moment to sit up again. “Everything structurally looks very healthy," she said. "No fibroids. No polyps. The uterus is well formed and the ovaries appear active."
Shane let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “That's... that’s really good news."
"It is."
Ilya squeezed his hand. For the first time since losing their son, the possibility of another child felt medically possible.
Dr. Vasquez sat down again. “There's one other topic I wanted to explain clearly," she said.
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Okay."
"Since male pregnancy physiology sometimes raises anatomical questions, I thought I could explain a few things that you may or may not have known.”
Ilya shifted slightly in his chair. Curiosity taking over. He’d been pregnant himself , yet he’d never actually took notice of the biology behind it all.
Dr. Vasquez pulled up another anatomical diagram. “In male carriers like both of you, the reproductive system shares space within the pelvic cavity with the digestive tract.” She pointed to the diagram. “The birth canal—meaning the 'vaginal' canal as we'd call it in female pregnancies —is positioned just anterior to the rectum, which is the final portion of the large intestine."
Shane leaned forward. “So they're like really close together?"
"Very close," she confirmed. "They're separated by a thin muscular wall called the rectoanal septum."
She traced the structure with her finger.
"This tissue barrier allows the rectum and birth canal to function independently, even though they sit directly next to each other in the pelvis."
Ilya nodded slowly. “So eh- what happens during birth? How does one use bathroom?”
"The body knows how to prepare. It’s likely that the carrier will have a ‘clear out’ a few hours before labor begins. It’s usually a sign in most people. Then during natural delivery the baby moves through the birth canal, not the rectum," she explained. "However, because the tissues of the pelvic floor stretch significantly during labor, the rectum can sometimes be compressed by the baby's head passing through the canal causing a loose stool - commonly known as diarrhoea to pass through."
Shane blinked. That’s gross. “So that's why people talk about... accidents during delivery."
Dr. Vasquez nodded. “Yes. It can even happen during internal ultrasounds like the one you've just had. The pressure can temporarily push stool out of the rectum. It's completely normal and medical staff are very accustomed to it."
Ilya's lips twitched faintly. A memory flashing in his brain. “That happened to me."
Shane looked at him in surprise. “You never told me that- wait I was there, how did I miss that?!”
"You were too busy crying over the baby's first ultrasound picture to notice," Ilya said quietly. "Plus, Doctor did not want me to feel embarrassed." The humor was soft. Fragile.
But real.
Dr. Vasquez chuckled. “As I said Ilya, that’s all very common and most of us medical professionals turn a blind eye to it.” She continued on with her explanation. “The pelvic floor muscles are designed to support both systems. They stretch and expand during childbirth and then gradually recover afterward. It can be a tough recovery depending on how well your delivery goes.” She leaned back slightly. “Based on everything we've seen today, there's no medical reason you wouldn't be able to conceive and carry a pregnancy, Shane."
The words settled over the room.
For a moment, neither Shane nor Ilya spoke.
Because hope was a terrifying thing after loss.
Shane finally looked at Ilya. “What do you think?"
Ilya stared at the ultrasound screen still glowing faintly beside the bed. The last time he'd been in a room like this, their lives had fallen apart.
But now... Now the image on the screen represented possibility instead of grief.
His voice was quiet when he answered.
"I think... we might actually have a chance. I think we should do this.”
——————————————————————————
The first ovulation test felt strangely momentous.
Shane stood in the bathroom early one morning, the small white test strip resting on the edge of the sink while the timer on his phone counted down. The house was quiet, the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows outside. Ilya leaned in the doorway behind him, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Neither of them had said much since Shane had taken the test. Because the moment felt bigger than either of them wanted to admit.
The little stick on the counter wasn't just plastic and chemicals. It was a starting line.
The timer chimed.
Shane picked up the test.
Two lines.
One faint.
One darker.
He looked up. “I think that means it's positive."
Ilya walked over slowly and studied the instructions again. “A surge in luteinizing hormone," he read quietly. "That means ovulation should happen within twenty-four to thirty-six hours."
Shane rubbed the back of his neck. “So... this is the window."
Ilya nodded. “The best chance."
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Shane laughed nervously. “Well," he said, "that's definitely the least romantic sentence we've ever said to each other."
Ilya smiled faintly. “Probably."
But despite the clinical nature of the test, when they went back to their bedroom later that morning the moment didn't feel clinical at all.
It felt hopeful. Terrifying. Tender. Every touch carried meaning. Every kiss held the quiet understanding of what they were trying to create together.
The first month passed slowly.
Then the second.
Each cycle followed the same rhythm.
Ovulation tests lined the bathroom counter. Shane tracked hormone surges with a small app on his phone, carefully noting the days when luteinizing hormone spiked, signaling the release of an egg from one of his ovaries. Dr. Vasquez had explained the process clearly during their appointment.
Each month, a cluster of follicles in the ovary began maturing under the influence of follicle-stimulating hormone. One follicle would usually become dominant, growing larger until it released an egg during ovulation. Once released, the egg traveled into the fallopian tube. It only survived about twenty-four hours. Fertilisation had to happen within that narrow window.
Afterward, the fertilized embryo would slowly travel toward the uterus, dividing into more cells as it moved. If everything aligned perfectly, the embryo would implant in the uterine lining roughly five to seven days later. But even in healthy couples, it often took several attempts.
Month one ended with a negative pregnancy test.
Month two did too. Neither of them said much about it. They had both prepared themselves for that possibility. But each negative result still carried a quiet sting.
It finally happened on a quiet Tuesday morning during the third month. Shane woke up earlier than usual. Something felt... different. He couldn't explain it.Just a strange heaviness in his body. A lingering wave of nausea that made the thought of coffee unappealing. Which was suspicious enough on its own. It was definitely enough to cause a wave of panic and realisation anyway.
He sat on the edge of the bed staring at the pregnancy test in his hand. Ilya was still asleep beside him. Shane slipped quietly into the bathroom. Three minutes later he was staring down at the test.
Two lines.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
His heart began pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. “Oh my god," he whispered. His hands started shaking. For a moment he just stood there frozen. Then he rushed back into the bedroom.
"Ilya."
No response.
"Ilya." His voice cracked slightly.
Ilya blinked awake slowly. “What—"
Shane held out the test.
For a moment Ilya didn't understand what he was looking at. Then his brain caught up. The color drained from his face. “Shane..." His voice broke.
"That's—"
"Positive," Shane whispered. The word hung in the air.Ilya sat up slowly, staring at the test like it might disappear if he blinked.
"We're... pregnant?"
Shane nodded. “Y-yeah, I think we are." And suddenly both of them were crying.
Not neat tears.
Not quiet ones.
The kind that came from somewhere deep in the chest after holding too much emotion for too long.
Ilya pulled Shane into his arms. “I can't believe it."
Shane laughed shakily. “I'm terrified. Fuck Ilya I feel so dizzy.”
"I know."
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That might actually be a symptom." Shane groaned weakly. “Fantastic."
But despite the fear, the joy was undeniable.
After a year and a half of grief and healing, something new had begun.
Two weeks later they were back at the fertility clinic. Shane sat on the exam table again while Dr. Vasquez reviewed his bloodwork. “Your hCG levels are exactly where we would expect them to be for early pregnancy," she said.
Human chorionic gonadotropin. The hormone produced by the developing placenta after implantation. It was the chemical pregnancy tests detected.
"We'll confirm with an internal ultrasound today," she added.
Shane swallowed. “How far along would I be?"
"Based on your ovulation date, approximately eight weeks."
Eight weeks.
The number felt surreal. He glanced at Ilya, who squeezed his hand. Dr. Vasquez prepared the ultrasound probe as Shane shuffled down the examination bed. “This will allow us to visualize the gestational sac and developing embryo."
The probe was inserted gently, and the screen flickered to life again. Grey shapes appeared once more, much like they had three months ago.
Dr. Vasquez adjusted the angle. “There it is." She pointed to a small dark circle on the screen. “That's the gestational sac."
Inside it, a tiny flicker moved. Shane leaned forward. “What's that?"
Dr. Vasquez smiled softly. “That," she said, "is the embryo."
Ilya's breath caught.
The doctor pressed a button. A rapid rhythmic sound filled the room. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Shane's eyes widened.
"W-wait is that?"
"The heartbeat."
At eight weeks, the embryonic heart had already formed basic chambers and was pumping blood through the developing circulatory system. The sound was fast. Much faster than an adult heartbeat.
Ilya covered his mouth with his hand. Tears streamed down his face silently. Because for the first time since losing their son... He was hearing a heartbeat again.
Alive.
Strong.
Real.
Shane squeezed his hand tightly. “You okay?" he whispered.
Ilya nodded through the tears. “My heart..." His voice trembled. “I-it er - finally feels like it's healing."
Shane leaned closer, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “You don't have to hold it together," he said quietly.
Ilya let out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against Shane's temple. “I didn't think I'd ever hear that sound again," he admitted.
Shane glanced back at the screen where the tiny flicker continued to pulse steadily. Neither had he.
But hearing it now made something inside his chest loosen just a little.
"We're going to take this one day at a time," Shane whispered. “No rushing. No pressure. Just... one step at a time."
Ilya nodded slowly. “One step at a time.”
Dr. Vasquez printed several images from the ultrasound machine. The printer hummed softly before she handed them over. “Here you go," she said gently. "Your first pictures."
Shane took them carefully. The black-and-white image showed the small gestational sac and the tiny bean-shaped embryo inside it. It was still so small—barely larger than a blueberry—but it was unmistakably their baby.
Ilya stared down at the images, his eyes filling again. “That's them," he whispered.
Shane slipped an arm around him. Hands shaking slightly as reality set in. “Our baby."
Ilya carefully held the pictures like they were the most fragile thing in the world. For the first time in a long while, hope didn't feel quite so terrifying.
It felt real.
——————————————————————————
The first trimester passed in a blur of cautious hope. Every week that went by felt like crossing another fragile bridge. Shane kept a pregnancy tracker on his phone that updated every Sunday morning. It told them how big the baby was each week—first a raspberry, then a grape, then a lime.
Ilya checked it religiously. Sometimes twice a day.
Shane teased him about it constantly.
"You realize the baby doesn't actually grow faster if you keep refreshing the app," he joked one night.
Ilya shrugged from his spot on the couch, where he had been reading yet another article about fetal development. “I am simply staying informed."
"You're obsessing."
"I am researching."
Shane laughed and rested his head in Ilya's lap.
Despite the teasing, they both knew why Ilya watched every change so carefully. Because after loss, every milestone mattered. Every day felt like a quiet victory. And despite the lingering fear living within Shane’s chest, he knew he could do this.
Because he had Ilya.
By twelve weeks, the nausea that had plagued Shane for most mornings finally began to ease.
"Thank god," Shane groaned one morning as he actually managed to drink coffee again. He was only allowed one cup a day, best believe he was going to enjoy it.
Ilya looked at him suspiciously. “You are sure?"
"Yes."
"You said that yesterday and then threw up ten minutes later."
"That was a temporary setback."
Despite the rough start, Shane's pregnancy was progressing beautifully. At each appointment Dr. Vasquez checked the baby's growth carefully. Heartbeat strong. Placenta positioned normally.
No early warning signs of complications. The first trimester screening showed healthy development.
For the first time, the doctor's tone shifted from cautious optimism to genuine reassurance.
"Everything looks excellent."
Those words were the closest thing to peace either of them had felt in over a year. They decided to tell their family soon after that appointment.
Shane's parents were the first.
Yuna and David came over for dinner one evening, unaware of what was waiting for them. Shane could barely sit still at the table.
“You're acting weird," David said eventually.
"I always act weird."
"Not like this."
Yuna studied her son carefully. “What are you hiding?"
Shane looked at Ilya. Ilya nodded.
Shane reached into his pocket and slid a small envelope across the table. Yuna opened it first.
Inside were the ultrasound photos.
For a moment she didn't say anything. Then her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god."
David leaned over her shoulder. And then his eyes widened too. “Shane... are you—"
"Pregnant," Shane finished quietly.
Yuna burst into tears immediately. She stood up and wrapped him in the tightest hug imaginable.
"My baby is having a baby," she cried.
David hugged both of them. “I am going to be a grandpa again," he said, looking slightly stunned.
Telling their friends was just as emotional.
Hayden and Jackie came over the following weekend. Shane handed Hayden a small gift bag.
Inside was a tiny pair of baby skates. Simple, but it gave the message.
Hayden stared at them in confusion. “What the—"
Then realization hit.
"WAIT." He looked up at Shane. “Are you serious?"
Shane nodded.
Jackie screamed so loudly the neighbors probably heard it. Both of them rushing over to pull the pregnant man into their hold.
“Oh I’m so happy for you both.” Jackie whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be amazing.”
Hayden gripped Ilya by the shoulder, pulling away from Shane. “How are you man?”
Ilya blanked at the question. “I- is a lot of emotion. But I’m happy. We deserve this.”
“Yeah, of course you do.” The other man stated softly, pulling Ilya into his arms.
Despite their differences, he and Hayden had always had a deep understanding towards one another.
Rose and Svetlana made the trip out to them a few weeks later. Rose had been busy working on a new movie and Svetlana was up to her usual tricks. It was nice to have the both of them back.
“So how have you guys been?” Rose asked, taking a sip from her can of coke.
“We’ve been good.” Shane nodded. “Really good.”
“Any news on when you’re returning to the ice yet Ilya?” Svetlana asked curiously.
Ilya paused, looking to Shane who squeeze his hand is assurance. “Eh- It will not be any time soon.”
“Oh?”
“I will be needed at home for the next six months.”
Rose frowned at that. “Why? Is something wrong? You’re both okay right? Shane you just said you’re-”
“Woah! Hold off on the spiral.” Shane snickered. “We’re good , I’m just pregnant.”
The pair froze. Rose basically choking on mid air as Svetlana slammed her glass back down onto the table.
“You’re serious?!” Svetlana exclaimed.
“Very.”
Rose cried.
Svetlana flew up from her chair and nearly tackled Ilya to the floor with excitement. “You are going to be papa again," she said fiercely, hugging him tight.
“I am.” Ilya murmured wetly. “Is scary.”
“Oh, moy sladkiy.” Svet cooed. “Of course it is. But it will be okay da? You’ve got this. Hollander is tough cookie.”
“How long have you kept this from me?! I can’t believe you!” Rose sobbed , grabbing at Shane’s hand.
“We’ve known since I was eight weeks along. I’m currently fifteen weeks so not too long I promise.”
Then came telling their team.
The hoots and hollers were louder than Shane had ever heard them before. It filled his heart in ways he never knew possible.
Troy and Harris had immediately started arguing about who would teach the baby to skate first. Whilst Luca was the curious George of the group and asked Shane a question a minute.
For the first time since losing their son, the house filled with laughter again.
When Shane reached sixteen weeks, they posted their announcement online.
The video was simple.
It showed Shane and Ilya sitting together on their couch, holding the ultrasound pictures. Shane smiled nervously at the camera. “So... we have some news."
Ilya squeezed his hand.
"We're expecting a baby."
The video ended with Shane lifting his shirt slightly to reveal the small curve of his growing belly. Simple, yet effective.
When Shane posted it to Instagram, the response exploded. Thousands of messages. Teammates. Fans. Friends. Support poured in from everywhere.
But the moment that meant the most to them came a few weeks later.
Shane was lying on the couch one evening at around twenty weeks when he froze suddenly. “Wait."
Ilya looked up from the kitchen. “What?"
Shane pressed a hand against his stomach. “I think... I think the baby just kicked. Like really kicked."
Ilya rushed over instantly. “What?" He repeated.
Shane grabbed his hand and placed it gently on the small bump. “Right there."
For a moment nothing happened. Then— A tiny thump. Like the faintest tap from inside.
Ilya gasped. “Oh my god."
It happened again.
A soft little kick.
His eyes filled instantly. “That's them."
Shane smiled. Tears filling his eyes. “Our baby ."
Their gender reveal was just around the corner. Neither one of them cared about gender, but they both had their own ideas on what their baby is.
Ilya leaned down and kissed Shane's stomach gently. “Hello, маленькая," he whispered softly in Russian. Little one.
A few days later they did their gender reveal.
Just the two of them. No crowd. No cameras besides Shane's phone.
They stood in their kitchen with a small cake between them. Shane held the knife. “Ready?" he asked.
Ilya nodded.
They cut the cake together. Pink frosting appeared inside.
Ilya laughed and pulled Shane into a hug. “A daughter."
Shane sobbed openly. “We're having a girl."
The next milestone came at twenty-four weeks, Ilya had made another big decision. They were sitting on the balcony when he brought it up.
"I've been thinking about next season."
Shane glanced over. “What about it?"
Ilya hesitated. “I do not want to go back."
Shane blinked. “You mean... go back to hockey?"
Ilya nodded. “I want to stay home with the baby."
The words surprised Shane at first. But when he looked at Ilya's face, the reason became obvious.
"I want to be there," Ilya continued quietly. “For everything. I cannot miss it.”
First steps.
First words.
Everything they had been robbed of before.
"I want to be papa full time. Is all I ever wanted.”
Shane reached over and took his hand. “If that's what you want, then that's what we do."
Relief softened Ilya's shoulders immediately. “You're okay with this?”
Shane smiled. “Of course I am, Ilya I understand."
As the pregnancy progressed, they worked with Dr. Vasquez to develop a detailed birth plan. Because of their previous loss, Shane would deliver in a high-risk obstetrics unit with continuous monitoring. This was their own choice, it helps Ilya’s anxiety and assured him that specialist trained staff would be around if needed.
The plan for the next few months included:
-Regular ultrasounds to track placental health.
-Weekly non-stress tests in the final trimester.
-Immediate intervention if any signs of placental distress appeared.
It was thorough.
Careful.
Reassuring.
But nothing could have prepared them for the moment they reached thirty-two weeks. The number hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Because thirty-two weeks was when everything had gone wrong before.
One evening shortly after crossing that milestone, Shane suddenly winced on the couch. “Ow."
Ilya's head snapped up instantly. “What?"
"N-nothing just- fuck. My stomach just tightened."
Another tightening rippled across Shane's abdomen. “I’m okay, it’s nothing to stress about.”
Braxton Hicks.
Practice contractions.
A normal part of late pregnancy.
But Ilya didn't know that yet. His face drained of color. “No." His breathing became rapid. “This is how it started."
"Hey—" Shane tried to calm him.
But panic had already taken hold. “We have to go to the hospital."
Yuna and David happened to be visiting that evening. Yuna stood up calmly. “Ilya."
He barely heard her. “Ilya, look at me."
David gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Your baby is okay."
Yuna moved beside Shane and placed a warm hand on his stomach. “Braxton Hicks contractions," she said calmly. “They're practice contractions remember? Shane’s been having them for weeks."
She guided Ilya's hand onto Shane's belly. “Feel that?" The tightening eased slowly. “They're uncomfortable," she continued, "but harmless."
She showed Ilya how to help Shane change positions and sip water. “They usually happen when the body is dehydrated or tired."
Gradually, Shane's stomach relaxed again. The contraction faded.
Ilya sank onto the couch, shaking. Shane pulled him close. “I'm okay. She’s okay.”
Ilya buried his face in Shane's shoulder.
"I’m sorry I just- I was so scared."
"I know."
Ilya had to keep reminding himself that this time was different. This time they weren't alone.
And for the first time since losing their son... Thirty-two weeks didn't feel like the end of something. It felt like the beginning of meeting their daughter.
——————————————————————————
Meeting their daughter came at thirty seven weeks.
The first contraction wakes Shane before the sun fully rises.
It isn’t pain exactly—not yet. More like a tightening band pulling across his abdomen from hip to hip, firm and unfamiliar. His eyes open slowly to the quiet dimness of the bedroom, grey morning light barely slipping through the curtains.
He lies still, one hand drifting instinctively to the curve of his stomach. The baby shifts beneath his palm. Then the tightening deepens. Shane inhales slowly through his nose. “Okay,” he murmurs under his breath.
Across the bed, Ilya is still asleep, sprawled on his stomach with one arm reaching toward Shane’s side of the mattress. His dark blonde hair is a mess against the pillow, breathing deep and even.
Shane waits. The sensation builds into a firm pressure that squeezes through his lower abdomen and around his back. Not unbearable. Just intense enough to make him focus.
Then slowly… it fades.
He exhales. Thirty-seven weeks. Technically early.
But still considered full term.
The doctor had told them the baby could come anytime now. Still. His heart beats a little faster.
Shane quietly slips out of bed, careful not to wake Ilya, and walks into the kitchen. The hardwood floor is cool beneath his bare feet as he fills a glass with water and leans against the counter. He waits.
Seven minutes later another contraction rolls in.
This one is stronger. Shane braces his hands on the counter and breathes through it, closing his eyes as the tightening grips low in his pelvis.
When it passes, he reaches for his phone and opens the contraction timer app their doctor insisted he download. By the third contraction he knows.
Early labor.
A strange calm settles over him. After everything they have been through, he always imagined this moment would come with panic. Instead, it feels… steady. Real. Hopeful.
Behind him the bedroom door creaks open.
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice is thick with sleep. He steps into the kitchen—and the moment he sees Shane leaning over the counter with one hand gripping the surface and the other pressed against his stomach, his entire posture snaps upright.
“What’s wrong, moya lyubov'?”
Shane glances back with a reassuring smile. “I think I’m in labor.”
The reaction is immediate. Ilya’s face drains of color. “Labor.”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Seems like it.”
“But—” Ilya runs a hand through his hair, already pacing. “You’re only thirty-seven weeks.”
Shane opens his mouth to respond when another contraction starts building. He braces against the counter again, breathing slow and steady.
Ilya freezes. “Oh my God.”
The contraction peaks, squeezing deep around Shane’s spine before easing again. He exhales.
“See? I’m fine.”
Ilya is already grabbing his phone. “I’m calling your parents.”
“What—no, you’re not—”
Too late. The phone rings.
“Yuna—hi—sorry it’s early but Shane’s in labor and I think it’s too early and something might be wrong and—”
Shane pinches the bridge of his nose.
Yuna’s calm voice comes through the speaker. “Ilya.”
“Yes?”
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing!”
“No,” she replies patiently. “You are panicking.”
A beat passes. “Thirty-seven weeks is considered full term,” she continues gently. “The baby is ready. Everything will be okay.”
Ilya collapses into a chair. “Are you sure? Yuna I cannot let anything happen to her. To him.”
“I am very sure. Your daughter is impatient , clearly. She wants to meet you. Shane will be okay, they both will. Now calm your ass down.”
Shane laughs softly.
Yuna adds, “Your father and I will come over soon Shane, you’ve got this honey.”
The next few hours pass quietly.
Labor builds slowly.
Shane spends most of the morning moving around the living room while Yuna times contractions and David takes his time quietly making tea.
Ilya never leaves Shane’s side. Every time a contraction begins, Shane leans forward, gripping the back of a chair or bracing against Ilya’s shoulders while breathing through the tightening pain. It was painful and consuming, yet Shane had never felt more in control.
By late morning the rhythm has changed. The contractions are stronger now. Closer. Five minutes apart. Shane’s breathing deepens.
His calm is still there—but now there’s effort behind it. His fear is building, the distant flutter that had been there his entire pregnancy building alongside his contractions.
The first whimper of pain comes as his water breaks. The shock of pain shooting from his cervix to his exhausted muscles enough to have his resolve crumbling to pieces.
Ilya calls their doctor with shaking fingers.
After a brief conversation, the answer comes. “Come to the hospital.”
The drive is tense.
Shane breathes through two contractions in the passenger seat while Ilya grips his hand like his life depends on it. Both of them keeping one another grounded. Ilya winces as Shane lets out a low guttural groan. “You’re doing amazing,” he says for the fifth time. “I love you so much.”
Shane manages a weak smile. “I know.” He pants. “I love you too.”
Once they arrive, everything begins to move faster.
The nurses settle Shane into their labor room, placing monitors around his stomach. The baby’s heartbeat fills the room almost immediately.
Strong.
Steady.
Relief washes through Ilya. The sound soothing his panic and helping him focus on consoling his husband. As long as he could hear that heartbeat, he would be okay.
Then the next contraction hits. It crashes into Shane with twice the force of the ones at home. His back arches slightly. “Oh—God— Oh fuck!” His hands grip the bed rails.
The nurse immediately moves beside him.
“Hey, hey—breathe with me.”
Shane shakes his head, panting as the contraction tightens brutally across his abdomen and lower back. “I can’t— holy shit that hurts.”
“You can,” The nurse says gently. She lifts a clear mouthpiece attached to a tank beside the bed.
“Gas and air. Nitrous oxide. Try breathing through this during the contractions.”
Shane doesn’t hesitate. The moment the next contraction builds he grabs the mouthpiece and inhales deeply. The edge of the pain dulls slightly.
His shoulders sag with relief. “Oh, T-that’s good.”
Across the room Yuna chuckles softly. “I used that when I had you.”
Shane lets out a breathy laugh. “Smart woman.”
Ilya squeezes his hand. “You’re doing so well.”
Dr Vasquez arrives soon after. “Right! Let’s see how far along we are.”
Shane braces himself as she performs the exam. The pressure and burn causing him to suck in desperate breaths of pain relief.
A moment passes.
Then her eyebrows shoot up. “Well.”
Ilya’s stomach drops. “What?”
She pulls off her gloves. “Shane, You’re eight centimeters dilated.”
Everyone freezes.
“Eight?” Shane gasps.
“Eight.” She smiles warmly. “Looks like your daughter is in quite a hurry.”
The next hour is pretty intense. For Shane time blurred into one. Transition hits quickly. The contractions become overwhelming—deep, crushing waves that leave him breathless. He grips Ilya’s arm through one particularly brutal contraction, tears spilling down his face. “Fuck, Ilya I can’t do this—” The words come out broken.
Memories crash through his mind. Ilya screaming. Doctors shouting. The silence after.
David steps closer, placing a steady hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Look at me, Shane look at me son.” Shane forces his eyes open. “Focus on your breathing.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
“You’re safe,” David says.
Across the bed, Ilya swallows his own panic and leans closer to Shane. “Our baby is safe. I am listening to their heart beat da? Everything is okay.”
The nurse checks again. “You’re ten centimetres, Shane.”
Dr Vasquez nods in approval . “Time to push, honey.”
The bed is adjusted. Shane’s legs are lifted and supported. Ilya and Yuna each take a position holding one of his thighs back. Shane had never felt so exposed.
David stays out of the way, up near Shane’s shoulder, not wanting to crowd him but close enough to support.
A contraction begins building. “Deep breath,” their doctor instructs. “Use that gas and air Shane. Nice big push for me okay?”
Shane bears down.
The pressure is enormous—like his body is splitting apart from the inside. He groans loudly, face flushed as he pushes with everything he has. Hand gripping onto the gas and air like it’s his life line. It kind of is.
“Good,” Dr Vasquez encourages. “Deep breath of that gas and air and- again!”
He sucks in on the mouthpiece and pushes again. A moan squeezing past his teeth gritted against the plastic. The burning stretch begins almost immediately. Fuck she was moving fast.
“Oh—God—” The pain is blinding. Shane brings the gas mouthpiece back from his mouth again.
“I can’t—please—”
Yuna strokes back his damp hair. “You’re doing it baby, you’re doing beautifully.”
Ilya’s tears spill over as Shane clutches his arm desperately. Pressing his forehead against Shane’s sweat drenched temple.
Another contraction. Another push.
Time becomes meaningless.
Shane practically screams his way through one push, the sound raw and helpless. “I need it to stop!”
“You’re almost there,” the doctor assures. “The only way it’ll stop is if you keep pushing Shane! Come on , focus that energy into your pushes.”
Thirty minutes pass like this. No change.
Then suddenly—
“Ilya,” Dr Vasquez says. “Come look.”
He hesitates. Then steps forward. As he looks down he sees the baby’s head pushing through. Shane’s anatomy is swollen and inflamed in a way he’s never seen before, it makes him wince in sympathy. Yet his breath is stollen by the sight of their child. A thick patch of dark hair.
His breath breaks. “She has your hair. Fuck Hollander , she’s right there you’re doing it.”
Shane cries out as the burning stretch intensifies to something almost unbearable. “Burns! Fuck- mom help me! Please I can’t - I- shit!” He yelps. Sucking in sharp breaths of gas and air.
“Oh my baby.” Yuna whispers brokenly, lips pressing to his matted locks. “You’re okay, she’s almost here.”
“Pant,” his doctor instructs. “Small breaths Shane, don’t rush her out.”
Shane listens. Sobs of pain ripping from his throat as David paces the corner of the nervously. The baby’s head begins emerging slowly.
“I need her out.” He cries, teeth biting down on the mouthpiece as he gives short , firm push. The head sliding forwards in a sharp slip. “Ow!”
“Slow! Shane, slow!” Dr Vasquez orders, fingers helping stretch the tight skin over the baby’s small skull. “Breathe her out , you can do it.”
“I’m scared!” Shane sobs brokenly, breath catching as Ilya presses a firm kiss to his hand.
“I know you are.” Ilya chokes out, “but you’re almost there okay? Just breathe. Like this okay? Copy!” He demands. Shane panting along with him, the gas providing him a distant relief.
There’s a burst of agony, sharp and hot. Shane screams, raw and broken. But the cheers from both the nurses and his mom earn him the realisation that his baby’s head is finally out.
“There she is!” Yuna breaths out in excitement. “She’s okay honey. We can see her.”
Once she’s cleared the baby’s airways, their doctor gently guides Shane’s shaking hand down. “Feel her, that’s your baby sweetheart. You’re almost done.” His fingers brush warm, damp hair.
Shane stares in awe. “Oh my God… Ilya. Mom.”
Yuna kisses his temple. “I am so proud of you. You can do this baby boy.”
Another contraction builds. “N-no , I can’t do it, I can’t.” Shane sobs.
Ilya leans close, gripping his hand. “Yes you can. Their foreheads touch. “Our dream is right here, Solnyshko.” he whispers. “We just need to hear her cry da? That’s all we need now. You’re going to give us that. I know it.”
Shane nods weakly. The contraction crests.
“Push!”
Shane bears down with a hoarse scream. The gas and air falling from his grip as he helps pull his thighs right back against his chest. The baby’s shoulders tug at his rim before one slowly slides out. The doctor turns suddenly.
“Ilya—come here.”
He freezes.
David nudges him gently. “Go. I’ve got Shane.” He states, sliding in to put an arm around his son’s shoulders . “Go.”
With shaking hands Ilya steps forward. Another push. Dr Vasquez guides his hands to hold onto his daughter’s upper body.
“You’re going to catch her.”
“I- what?”
The doctor squeezes his shoulder in reassurance, stepping back once she’s certain he can manage. “One last push Shane, come on sweetie.”
Shane pushes, sobs erupting from his chest as the burning pain intensifies for one hot second.
And suddenly—
Warm fluid splashes onto Ilya’s arms. Their daughter slips free into his hands. Slippery , covered in fluids and blood, yet utterly perfect.
Her cry is immediate.
Loud.
Perfect.
Ilya collapses into broken sobs. “Nasha malen'kaya devochka,” he chokes out in Russian. Bringing her up against his chest, careful of her cord. “Our little girl…”
Shane collapses back against the pillows, crying openly into his mother’s neck as Yuna wraps her arms around him. David squeezing the back of his neck, face full of pride.
“I-Ilya.” He hiccups, watching the other man cherish the moment he had be aching for, for almost two years.
Ilya shifts forward slowly. Careful of his husband’s aching body. And places their daughter onto Shane’s heaving chest. His own sobs wracking his frame. She quiets instantly. Tiny fingers curling against her carriers skin.
Shane stares down at her in stunned disbelief.
“I did that,” he whispers. “Fuck Ilya, she’s here. I did it.”
Ilya kisses his forehead. “You did everything. You are everything.” Between them, their miracle breathes softly against Shane’s heart.
For a few long minutes after the birth, Shane can’t move. His entire body trembles with the aftermath of it all—muscles quivering, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Sweat dampens his hairline and the hospital sheets beneath him. Everything hurts.
His abdomen is still contracting painfully, deep aftershocks rolling through him.
But none of it matters.
Because lying against his chest is the warmest, most fragile thing he has ever felt. Their daughter.
She is small and damp and pink, her tiny body curled instinctively against his skin as if she already knows exactly where she belongs. Her cries fade into soft, hiccupping breaths as she settles against the steady rhythm of his heart.
Shane stares down at her in stunned silence.
“Ilya…” he whispers hoarsely. His husband moving to stand by his side once more. Yuna and David taking a step back.
Ilya is back standing beside the bed, both hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch her and break the moment. His face is completely wrecked with tears.
“I can’t believe it. She’s here,” he breathes.
Shane nods weakly, his hand shaking as he gently strokes their baby’s tiny back.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Oh, hi my baby. We’ve waited so long to meet you.”
The baby squirms slightly, her tiny fingers uncurling against Shane’s chest.
Ilya leans closer, resting a trembling hand beside her small body. “Hello, little one,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s an honour to meet you.”
For a few minutes, the world shrinks down to just the three of them. Shane traces the outline of her cheek with one finger. “She’s so warm.”
Ilya nods, staring at her face like he’s memorizing every detail. Her thick dark hair is still damp but already curling slightly at the ends. Her nose is small and delicate. Her lips pout slightly as she breathes. Then Ilya goes very still. His hand trembles where it rests near her.
“Shane…” he whispers.
Shane glances up. “What?”
Ilya swallows hard, his eyes filling again. “S-She looks like him.”
Shane’s chest tightens. He looks down again. And suddenly he sees it too.
The same curling hair. The same tiny nose.
The same shape of her mouth.
For a moment the room is quiet except for the soft sounds of the baby breathing.
Then Ilya breaks. A broken sob escapes him as he covers his mouth with his hand. “Our boy should be here,” he chokes.
Shane’s first instinct is to comfort him. He lifts one hand weakly toward Ilya. “H-hey, It’s okay—” But the words stop halfway out.
Because he realizes something.
This side of his grief has been sitting inside Ilya for almost nine months now. Held down. Hidden. Allowing Shane to enjoy each and every moment of his pregnancy.
Maybe this is what they need. Maybe it needs to come out.
So instead of stopping him, Shane lets himself feel it too. The tears come suddenly. Hot and unstoppable. They both cry.
They cry like the day they lost him.
Standing beside the bed, Ilya leans forward and presses his forehead gently against Shane’s.
Their daughter squirms softly between them.
“We miss your brother,” Shane whispers to her shakily. “God we miss him, so , so much. He was supposed to be here first. You were supposed to come second, annoying the hell out of your big brother. That’s how it was supposed to be. He would have loved you.”
Ilya nods through his tears.
“But it did not go that way. Now you have angel brother,” he tells her quietly. “He watches over you. Is very special, you’re very special Lapochka.”
Shane kisses the top of her damp head. “He will protect you baby. You are loved so damn much.”
For a moment, grief and joy sit side by side in the room. Then a gentle voice breaks the quiet.
“Alright, Dad, I’m just going to take her for a quick check.” One of the nurses steps forward carefully.
Shane hesitates. His arms tighten instinctively around the baby. But the nurse only smiles reassuringly. “We’ll bring her right back.”
Reluctantly, Shane lets her go. The moment the baby leaves his chest, the emptiness is immediate.
His body begins shaking harder now that the adrenaline is fading. Ilya notices instantly.
He pulls the blankets up around Shane’s shoulders.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m okay,” Shane murmurs, though his teeth chatter slightly. The doctor steps forward again.
“Shane, your body still needs to deliver the placenta.”
He nods tiredly. Another contraction rolls through his abdomen—not nearly as intense as before but still uncomfortable. Having his baby close almost made him forget they were still happening.
“Give me one good push.”
Shane braces weakly. He pushes. A strange, slippery sensation follows and then relief as the placenta is delivered.
“Perfect,” the doctor says. “Looks to be all in one piece. That’s excellent Shane.”
Shane sighs as he nods , completely exhausted.
“Now I just need to examine you for any tearing.”
He nods again. Eyes locking on the corner where his baby is crying in distaste. She mustn’t like being poked and prodded. Not that he can blame her. Who would?
Dr Vasquez begins the examination. After a moment she sighs softly. “You’ve got a couple of small internal tears.”
Shane’s stomach sinks. “D-Does that mean I need stitches?”
“Not if I can help it. I’ll try something first.” His doctor assures, “I’m going to pack the area to control the bleeding. Just brace yourself for me okay? It’ll hurt but it’ll work if you let me finish.”
The moment she begins, Shane’s entire body tenses. The pain is sharp and invasive, deep inside his still sensitive birth canal.
Shane cries out instantly. “Wait—!” His hips jerk away reflexively.
“Shane,” the doctor says gently. “I need you to stay still. Use the gas and air honey.”
He grabs the mouthpiece from Ilya’s outstretched hand. Immediately trying to take in deep breaths. But it hurts.
Badly.
He tries to push her hand away. “I can’t—”
Yuna quickly moves to one side of the bed, gripping his shoulder. “Sweetheart, breathe.”
Ilya takes his hand away. “Look at me baby, you’re okay. “
Shane is crying openly now, overwhelmed and exhausted. “It hurts—”
“I know,” Ilya murmurs. “But you’re almost done.”
Yuna strokes his hair gently. “You were so brave bringing her into the world. You are so amazing Shane. My baby boy, I am in awe of you.”
Shane’s only response is so sob and breath deeply on the gas and air clutched in his grip. Fuck , it sucks so fucking bad.
The doctor works quickly, finishing the packing.
“Alright,” she says a moment later. “There we go. All done.”
Shane slumps back against the pillows, trembling with relief.
Ilya presses a kiss to his forehead. “You did so well.”
A moment later the nurse returns. And in her arms—
Their daughter. “Back to daddy you go little one, she’s got a clean bill of health. 6lbs on the dot. Tiny , yet stubborn and strong.”
Shane’s entire face lights up with exhausted joy as she is placed back against his chest. “There you are, sweet girl.” he whispers. She squirms slightly, already seeking warmth again.
David steps closer now, finally allowing himself to look properly at his granddaughter.
“She’s beautiful,” he says softly.
Yuna wipes her eyes before leaning down beside the bed. “What’s her name?”
Shane and Ilya exchange a look. A quiet moment passes between them. Then Shane smiles softly.
“Nevaeh.”
Ilya adds gently, “Nevaeh Yurina Hollander-Rozanov.”
Yuna blinks in surprise. “Nevaeh? That’s different.”
“Heaven,” Shane explains softly. “It spells heaven backwards. Felt symbolic.”
Emotion floods Yuna’s face instantly. Her hand covers her mouth as tears spill down her cheeks.
“Oh…” She leans forward and wraps her arm carefully around Shane, holding him close. “My brave boy,” she whispers. “I’m going to keep saying it , but you really did do so well.” She presses a kiss to his temple. “I have never been more proud of you.”
“Thanks mom. Thank you for being here.” Shane looks down at his daughter again.
Nevaeh stirs sleepily against his chest, tiny fingers curling around one of his. Her thick dark hair sticks up in damp little waves. She is perfect.
And for the first time in a very long time—
Their family feels whole.
——————————————————————————
The hospital discharge papers sit neatly folded on the tray table.
Shane stares at them for a moment, almost disbelieving. Twenty-four hours ago he had been screaming through contractions and pushing their daughter into the world. Now a nurse is gently showing them how to buckle a newborn into a car seat. It feels surreal.
Nevaeh is wrapped snugly in the tiny pastel yellow blanket that Yuna and David had bought her, her dark hair already fluffing up into soft tufts. She makes small squeaking sounds as she sleeps through the entire process.
Ilya checks the straps three times. Then a fourth.
“Is this tight enough?” he asks.
The nurse smiles patiently. “It’s perfect.” He still adjusts it again.
Shane watches from the wheelchair they insisted he sit in, exhausted but amused. “You’re going to drive her crazy when she’s older,” he murmurs.
“I am keeping her alive,” Ilya replies seriously.
Shane smiles weakly. He knows Ilya means those words. Nothing is more important to him.
Yuna and David are waiting outside the maternity ward doors when they come through.
Yuna’s eyes instantly lock onto the car seat. “Oh there she is! My granddaughter.” She bends down immediately, peering into the tiny bundle with open adoration. “David, look at her, She’s sleeping again.”
“Her favorite activity,” Shane says.
David takes the car seat carefully once they reach the car, loading it into the back with the kind of careful concentration normally reserved for defusing explosives. Ilya helps Shane get settled in next to her, hands gentle as he clips his seatbelt and leans back to press a firm kiss against his lips.
The drive home is quiet. Shane leans back against the seat, still sore and heavy in his body. Every bump in the road reminds him of just how much trauma his body went through during labor.
But when he turns his head slightly, he can see the tiny hands of his daughter and the side of her little face and head. Her hair sticks out like a sore thumb. Dark hair. Just like the moment she crowned. His chest tightens with emotion.
When they arrive home, Yuna and David help them inside but don’t stay long. Yuna presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek. “Call if you need anything.”
David squeezes Ilya’s shoulder. “You two have got this. Don’t hesitate to call if you need help though.”
Then the door closes.
And suddenly the house is quiet. Just the three of them. Ilya carefully carries the car seat into the living room and sets it down.
They both crouch beside it. Nevaeh sleeps on, her tiny lips parted slightly. Shane sinks slowly onto the couch with a quiet groan. His entire body feels like it has been run over by a truck.
Ilya notices immediately. “Are you okay?”
“Sore,” Shane admits. “Very sore.”
Ilya nods sympathetically and sits beside him, one arm draping carefully around his shoulders. “Da, it sucks. I remember the aches.”
“You had it worse.” Shane murmured, hand brushing against his cheek.
They sit there for a long moment. Just staring at her. “I still can’t believe she’s real,” Shane whispers.
Ilya smiles softly. “We made her. She’s alive.”
Shane shakes his head in quiet amazement. “She was literally inside me yesterday.” He states in fascination. “And now she’s here.”
“Is crazy.” Ilya hums, pulling Shane back to rest against his chest.
The afternoon drifts by like that. Them sat, watching her sleep. Checking her breathing every few minutes. Taking about a thousand photos.
Eventually evening settles in. And reality begins to arrive with it. Nevaeh starts fussing. A soft, uncertain cry.
Shane carefully lifts her from the bassinet they set up beside the couch. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
Ilya dims the lights while Shane settles back against the cushions and pulls up his shirt.
The lactation nurses had shown them everything.
But actually doing it alone without her feels completely different.
Shane tries to guide Nevaeh toward his chest.
She roots instinctively but struggles to latch.
After several attempts Shane winces slightly. “It hurts.”
Ilya sits close beside him. “Let me see.” He gently helps reposition the baby’s head like the nurse demonstrated. “Angle her a little more… yeah… like that.”
Nevaeh fusses again. Then suddenly—
She latches. Shane inhales sharply.
The initial pull is uncomfortable, almost pinching.
But after a moment it settles into a steady rhythmic tug. “Oh,” he breathes.
Ilya grins with quiet pride. “There we go.”
Nevaeh feeds greedily, tiny hands flexing against Shane’s chest.
Shane watches her with tired wonder. “I made this food for her.”
“You did.”
“Fuck, if you had told me I’d be okay saying that a year ago I would have freaked the hell out.”
Ilya chuckles fondly. “We’ve come a long way.”
They sit like that for nearly half an hour.
Eventually Nevaeh finishes and falls asleep again, milk-drunk and peaceful.
Ilya carefully burps her and settles her into the bassinet. The night becomes a blur after that. Feeds. Diaper changes. Tiny cries.
Shane and Ilya take turns resting while the other sits beside the bassinet watching her breathe.
Neither of them can quite shake the fear that if they both sleep she’ll wake up alone. Around three in the morning Ilya finds Shane staring at her again instead of sleeping. “You need rest,” he murmurs.
“So do you.”
“I am resting,” Shane says softly. His eyes never leave their daughter. “I just like looking at her. Like to see her chest rise and fall.”
Ilya understands completely.
Morning arrives quietly through the bedroom curtains. Shane wakes slowly. His body feels stiff and heavy. And sore. Very sore.
Every muscle in his abdomen aches. His hips feel bruised. There’s a deep tenderness between his legs that reminds him with every movement of what his body did not even two days ago.
Still, he carefully swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. Wandering down the stairs to find his favourite people sat in the living room. “ I think I’m going to shower,” he says.
Ilya looks up from where he’s holding Nevaeh. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
The bed baths at the hospital helped. But Shane wants to feel clean. Human again.
The walk to the bathroom is slow. His muscles protest with every step. When he finally reaches the mirror and catches sight of himself, he freezes.
He barely recognizes the person staring back. His stomach is still swollen. Faint pale stretch marks shadow his hips. Dark circles under his eyes, face swollen from lack of sleep. Dried blood stains the hospital mesh underwear.
His shoulders slump slightly. “Ilya…”
Ilya appears immediately in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
Shane gestures weakly toward the mirror. “I look… wrecked.”
Ilya steps behind him and gently wraps his arms around his waist. “You look like someone who just brought a human being into the world.”
Shane sighs softly. “I knew postpartum would be rough. I mean- I know it was different for you, but it was sort of the same. I knew what to expect , but I just- seeing it happen to yourself is another level of hard I won’t lie.”
Ilya presses a kiss to his shoulder. “You are still the strongest person I know. Shane you have faced your biggest fear in life. I do not think you realise how amazing that is.”
“I’d do anything for you, for us. You know that.” Shane blushed.
“I do.”
Together they start the shower. The warm water helps immediately. But cleaning up is still difficult.
There’s dried blood. Tenderness. The awkward process of replacing the large postpartum pad.
Shane winces slightly while adjusting it. “This part might take getting used to.”
Ilya helps him carefully. “Da, it does. There we go.”
Once Shane is finally clean and wrapped in fresh clothes, he looks a little more like himself. Tired. But calmer. They return to the bedroom where Nevaeh sleeps peacefully in the bassinet.
Shane lowers himself slowly onto the bed. “I’ll get back to full fitness eventually,” he says quietly.
Ilya sits beside him. “Your body needs time.”
Shane nods thoughtfully. “Walking first.”
“Then light workouts at six weeks post delivery.”
“No rushing.”
Ilya smiles. “That sounds like a very responsible plan.”
Shane glances toward the bassinet. Their daughter stirs slightly in her sleep, making a tiny sigh. His chest fills with quiet pride. “My body did something incredible.”
Ilya squeezes his hand. “Yes it did.”
And in the quiet morning light, their new life begins.
——————————————————————————
The days begin to blur together after that first night. Morning light through the nursery curtains.
Soft newborn cries. The quiet rhythm of feeding, sleeping, changing, holding.
Life shrinks into something beautifully simple.
Shane heals slowly.
The first week his movements are careful, measured. Sitting down too quickly still makes him wince, and standing for too long leaves a deep ache in his hips and abdomen. The postpartum bleeding gradually lightens, though the pads remain a constant reminder of what his body has endured.
But each day something improves.
Each day he walks a little farther through the house.
Each day he feels a little more like himself.
And each day Nevaeh grows.
It happens in tiny ways.
Her eyes stay open longer. Her little fists begin to uncurl more often. Her cries develop different tones—hungry, uncomfortable, curious.
Shane and Ilya learn them all.
They move through the exhaustion together, sometimes laughing at the absurdity of being awake at three in the morning while their daughter stares up at them like a tiny, demanding queen.
Ilya becomes an expert at burping her.
Shane learns how to soothe her against his chest when she’s restless after feeding.
They take hundreds of pictures. Maybe thousands.
Every tiny expression feels like something they never want to forget. But even as joy fills their home, grief still lives there too.
It shows up quietly sometimes.
In the middle of the night when the house is still.
Or when Shane watches Nevaeh sleeping and notices the familiar curve of her nose. The same nose their son had.
One afternoon a few weeks later, Shane stands in the nursery doorway holding Nevaeh against his shoulder. Ilya is sitting in the rocking chair, watching them both.
“She looks like him more and more every day,” Shane says softly.
Ilya nods slowly. There is sadness in his eyes. But not the sharp, suffocating kind they used to carry.
Something gentler now.
“I think he sent her to us,” Ilya says quietly. “In fact I know he did. He knew his papa needed saving.”
Shane walks over and settles into the chair beside him. Nevaeh stirs slightly but stays asleep, her cheek pressed against Shane’s chest.
“I still wish he was here,” Shane murmurs.
“So do I.”
Ilya reaches over, touching Nevaeh’s tiny hand.
“But loving her doesn’t mean we love him any less.”
Shane nods. That had been their biggest fear at first. That joy might somehow erase the grief. But it never does. It was silly of them to even think that.
Instead they learn something else.
Their son is still part of their family. Still present in the stories they tell of Ilya’s pregnancy and those precious three hours they spent with him. Still loved in every quiet moment when they remember him. When they picture what his future would have looked like had he lived to grow.
Sometimes they talk about him out loud while holding Nevaeh. About how excited he would have been to be her big brother.
About the way they imagine he would have looked running through the house. Those conversations don’t break them anymore.
They soften them.
Their grief becomes something they carry together rather than something that crushes them alone.
And as the months begin to pass, hope starts to grow in its place.
Nevaeh’s first real smile happens late one evening while Shane is singing softly to her in the living room. Ilya nearly drops his phone trying to capture it. Her laugh comes a few weeks later.
A tiny, surprised giggle that leaves both of them staring at her like she’s performed magic.
“She laughed,” Shane whispers.
Ilya laughs too. “Our daughter laughed.”
The house begins filling with new sounds. Little coos. Tiny squeals. The rhythmic creak of the rocking chair.
And the quiet conversations Shane and Ilya share late at night about the future they can finally imagine again. They talk about the first steps she’ll take across the living room floor. The first day of school. The day she’ll ask about her brother.
They promise each other they will tell her everything.
Not the pain alone.
But the love too.
Because their son will always be part of her story.
Part of their story.
One evening months later, Shane stands by the nursery window watching the sunset while Nevaeh sleeps in his arms.
Ilya comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Shane’s waist.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.
Shane looks down at their daughter. Her tiny chest rises and falls steadily. Peacefully.
“Hopeful,” he says.
It’s a word that once felt impossible. Now it feels real. Because the storm they survived together changed them.
But it didn’t destroy them.
And sleeping safely in Shane’s arms is the proof of that.
Nevaeh Yurina Hollander-Rozanov.
Their miracle.
Their future.
Their rainbow after the storm. 🌈