“You should stay,” she said, consulting the chart in her hands. “She has a serious head injury, but her vitals are stable. We’ll need to monitor her closely for the next few days to ensure there’s no brain swelling or other complications.”
Relief washed through me. Serious but stable. I’d take that.
“However,” the doctor continued, her expression shifting to something more complex, “there is something else we need to discuss.”
My stomach dropped. Something else. That phrase never meant anything good in hospitals.
“We ran a full blood panel when you came in,” she said, looking between Kirill and me. “Standard procedure for trauma cases. And we found something…unexpected.”
“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor’s expression softened. “You’re pregnant, Barbara. Approximately six weeks along.”
The world stopped.
Just. Stopped.
All sound cut out. All movement ceased. Even my heartbeat seemed to pause, waiting for my brain to process what I’d just heard.
Pregnant.
Six weeks.
That would be—that would be from—
The first night. The club. Kirill’s penthouse. Before everything got so complicated. Before I knew he’d become…whatever he’d become to me.
“What?” Kirill’s voice broke through the static in my head. He sounded as shocked as I felt.
“I’m what?” I managed to choke out, even though I’d heard her perfectly. Even though the words had landed with the force of a bomb.
“Six weeks along,” the doctor repeated, her tone gentle but matter-of-fact. “Based on your hormone levels and the dating. The trauma didn’t affect the pregnancy as far as we can see. The baby appears to be fine. You were very lucky.”
Lucky. The word felt absurd. I’d been left for dead in an abandoned building after learning my stepbrother killed my mother. Lucky wasn’t the word I’d use.
But pregnant.
I was pregnant.
With Kirill’s baby.
“I’ll give you both some time to process,” the doctor said, backing toward the door. “I’ll check back in a few hours. Try to rest, miss. Your body’s been through significant trauma.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her, and suddenly the room felt too small. Too quiet. Too full of a truth I had no idea how to handle.
I turned to look at Kirill. He was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Shock, definitely. But underneath that—fear? Anger? Joy? I couldn’t tell.
“Kirill—” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish. Didn’t know what to say that would make any of this make sense.
“Six weeks,” he said slowly, like he was working through calculations. “That would be—”
“The first night.” I nodded. “The club. Your penthouse. Before everything went to hell.”
He stood abruptly, pacing to the window, one hand running through his already disheveled hair. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.” I laughed, and it came out slightly hysterical. “That about sums it up.”
He turned to face me, and whatever he saw in my expression made him freeze. For a long moment, he just stared at me, his jaw working like he was trying to find words that wouldn’t come.
