Page 242 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
Viktor looks at the floor.
I ignore him.
“She will recover?” I ask.
“Yes. She was extremely lucky. The bullet passed through soft tissue. No major organ damage. We’ll monitor for infection and complications from the water exposure, but at the moment, her condition is stable. The baby is fine too.”
My voice comes slowly. “What baby?”
His eyes flick toward the treatment room. “Your wife is pregnant.”
The hall disappears.
Not completely. I still hear footsteps. A monitor beeping somewhere. A nurse speaking quietly behind a curtain. But all of it moves far away.
Pregnant.
Anya is pregnant.
My child.
My hand closes around the edge of the nearest chair, hard enough that the metal bends slightly under my fingers.
“How far?” I ask.
“Very early. She told us she had just found out.”
A cold, violent fear moves through me so quickly I almost stagger.
“Are you sure the baby is okay
The doctor nods. “For now, yes. There are always risks this early, especially after trauma, but the initial checks are reassuring. She needs rest, hydration, monitoring, and no stress.”
I almost laugh. The sound would be ugly, so I don’t.
“Can I see her?”
“Yes. But keep it brief.”
I step past him before he finishes.
Anya is lying in bed, propped slightly against pillows. Her hair is loose around her face. The hospital gown makes her look smaller than she is, and I hate it. I hate the white sheets, the IV, the bandage hidden beneath the blanket, the fact that this room smells like antiseptic instead of her.
She looks at me the moment I enter. She knows.
“He told you,” she says.
I close the door behind me.
For a few seconds, I can’t speak. I walk to the bed and sit carefully on the edge, afraid of jostling her. Afraid of touching her wrong. Afraid of my own hands, which have killed men tonight and now don’t know how to rest on something so fragile.
Her eyes follow mine as they drop to her stomach.
There’s nothing to see.
Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
