"Ma'am, you need to—"
"I'm pregnant with his children.Twins. And I just watched him survive a building collapse." My voice breaks. "I'm not leaving him."
The doctor's expression softens slightly, but he doesn't relent. "You can wait right outside the trauma room. But I need you to let us work."
They push through double doors, and a nurse physically blocks my path. "Right here," he says gently. "We'll update you as soon as we know anything."
The doors swing shut, leaving me standing in another sterile hallway.
I sink onto a plastic chair, my hands shaking. The ultrasound images are still clutched in my fist, slightly crumpled now.
I smooth them out carefully. Two tiny shapes. Two heartbeats.
Our babies.
Maksim has to survive this. He has to meet them. Has to hold them.
I press my hand to my stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing they're there. Growing. Depending on me to keep them safe.
"Please," I whisper to whatever gods might be listening. "Please let him be okay."
Anya appears beside me, dropping into the chair. Her face is streaked with tears and soot. I look at her and realized I probably look just as bad.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
"Maksim passed out. Blood loss. Stubborn fool. I swear I will kill him if he dies.”
She smiles. “I think we’ve all learned the man is made of titanium. He’s not going anywhere. The devil doesn’t want him.”
"We're having twins."
She laughs. “Yeah right.”
I hand her the crumpled-up paper that is the proof.
Her eyes widen. "Twins?"
"Two babies, Anya. And their father just collapsed because he's too stubborn to take care of himself."
"He was taking care of you." She squeezes my hand. "That's what he does."
"I know." Tears burn my eyes. "But I need him alive. These babies need him alive."
We sit in silence, both of us staring at those double doors. Willing them to open. Willing someone to come out and tell us Maksim is fine.
Time crawls. Minutes feel like hours.
A doctor comes out looking just a little frantic.
I hop to my feet. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
The doctor sighs. “He lost a lot of blood. The injury tore through some arteries. He’s got some broken ribs—”
“Those are probably old,” I say absently. “He got shot a couple of weeks ago.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Yeah. I saw. Look, that man is lucky to be alive. I don’t know how he is alive to be frank. You should probably go get comfortable. We need to do a full workup. He’s bruised. Was he in that building that collapsed?”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
