“I’m worried about her weight.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
“A number of things. She can have a disease, cancer, or something like an eating disorder. Does she eat well?”
Maxim almost shrugged, but then he remembered this morning, and all she had was an egg. And he thought about dinner and how he had remarked how she hadn’t eaten a thing. He thought she was just being stubborn. “No. She doesn’t.”
“Has she been sick?”
He didn’t know the answer. He paid little attention to her, and it now hit him how much he had ignored her. Maxim just assumed she was fine because she always appeared fine. He was so sure she didn’t need him, but when had he ever given her the chance to? He pushed her away on day one.
“No,” Lydia answered. “She works very hard on the garden. Maybe she just got overheated. It is particularly hot for Russia this time of year.”
The machine beeped, and Rutner sped over to the readout. He chewed his lip as he stared at it.
“What?”
“I can’t make assumptions. I’ll need to talk to her.”
“What are you assuming?”
“Multiple things–”
Maxim almost punched him. “Rutner, give me something.”
“It’s not cancer. Her white blood count is good. It could still be some autoimmune disease. Or,” he sighed. “Does she ever throw up? Does she ever leave the table after dinner and go to the bathroom?”
Maxim tossed a hand to Lydia, and she answered, “No. But we have been concerned about how little she eats.”
Maxim grit his teeth. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I found little snacks in the bottom of her drawer and figured that was what she was doing.”
Rutner winced. “She hides food?”
Maxim twisted around. “Why? What does that mean?”
“Unless I can talk to her, I don’t want to say anything.”
Maxim grabbed the man by the shirt and pushed him up against the wall. “I am the one paying you. Tell me what is wrong with my wife!”
“It could be anorexia. All the signs are there. But it could also be an illness. Accusing someone of a disorder is not something I’d advise. They can get very defensive. Especially if it’s something they’ve been hiding for a long time. But I don’t know her history. This could also be because she moved into a new house, and she’s depressed. That’s why I need to talk to her.”
Maxim shoved himself away and paced the floor. He panted, more enraged that he didn’t have answers. “Wake her up.”
Rutner fixed his shirt, flexing his shoulders. “Sir, I think it would be best if I did it alone.”
“Wake her up,” Maxim repeated, stopping at the end of the bed and folding his arms across his chest. The doctor got out a small tube and opened it under her nose. Maxim tried to clear the anger from his face. He didn’t want her afraid, but rage was the only thing keeping him together. He didn’t worry about people. There was no one in his life that he cared about aside from Lazar and, at one time, Trina. He hated feeling helpless. Italways brought back memories of when his parents were killed, and Lazar sat in front of him, crying his eyes out.
Kira’s nose scrunched up in disgust, and she twisted away, slapping at the foul-smelling salts. Her eyes opened next, squinting as she held her head and groaned. “What happened?” she questioned in a weak whisper.
“Mrs. Morozov, I’m Doctor Rutner. You passed out because you are severely anemic and dehydrated.”
“What?” Kira twisted her head around, noticing the wires attached to her wrist and the IV hanging from the bedpost. She found Lydia, and then she noticed Maxim at the edge of her bed. When her eyes connected with his, she only froze for a moment before she tried to sit up to appear stronger. Rutner put a hand on her shoulder, but she shoved it off, pulling away.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She reached for the IV as if to pull it out, and Rutner put his hand to stop her.
“Just for a little bit longer. Can I ask you some questions?”
