On the night of the second of April, when it was still pitch black and wintry outside, Maria woke to an unfamiliar stabbing sensation. “Peter,” she cried, then the pain grew so intense she could only grip the blanket in her fists and moan through gritted teeth.

He leaped to his feet and lit the oil lamp, then bent to examine her. For a moment she felt normal, and then the gripping pain came once more and she screwed up her face, trying not to scream out loud.

“What’s happening to me?” she asked when the wave of pain passed.

“The baby is coming,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll fetch Svetlana. And I’ll be right outside.”

It was all very well for him to say “don’t worry,” but she could see in his eyes that he was worried. The baby was too early. There must be something wrong with it. Her worst fear was that it would have hemophilia, the bleeding disorder that had stunted her little brother Alexei’s short life. Peter did not know the disease ran in her family, as the Romanovs had always kept it to themselves and a few trusted advisors, but he must have seen with his own eyes that Alexei was a sickly child.

Another wave of pain came and she stood up to pace around the room. Where was Peter? Where was Svetlana? Suddenly she longed for her mother, for Olga or Tatiana—just one of them. She needed her family more than she had ever thought possible. Tears came and she was sobbing hard when Svetlana bustled in with a pot of boiling water and some fresh towels.

“There, there,” she said, placing her hand on Maria’s brow. “It’s normal to be scared, but I have not lost a baby or a mother yet and I’m not about to start.”

* * *

The pains lasted through the night, waning for a while then coming back stronger than ever. Sometimes Maria screamed for Peter, but Svetlana would not let him enter the room, saying it was bad for a marriage.

“I’m here,” he called through the door. “I’m not leaving, not even for a moment.”

By the time dawn broke, Maria was overcome with exhaustion. “I can’t go on,” she panted. “It’s too much.”

Svetlana was calm. “You can and you will. That child can’t stay inside, but he will not be born before he is good and ready.”

She lifted Maria’s shift to feel the baby’s position and suddenly exclaimed, “Good God, what is this?”

Maria looked down. Svetlana had spotted the jagged purple line of the bayonet scar. “An accident,” she murmured. “At home. I fell . . .”

“You’re lucky to be alive!” Svetlana was aghast. “What on earth did you fall onto?”