As if to prove the point, the baby shifts on screen. Just a small flutter, but definitely movement.
“Then why—” My voice cracks as I sniffle, the earlier terror being replaced with confusion. “Why is there so much blood?”
“Because of this.” Dr. Petrov points to a dark area on the screen, separate from the baby. “This is a subchorionic hematoma. It’s a collection of blood between the uterine wall and the placenta. It’s fairly common in the first trimester, actually and affects about 25% of pregnancies.”
“Is it dangerous?” Dimitri asks, his face still pale.
“It can be, but in this case it’s relatively small. Most hematomas resolve on their own by the second trimester.” Dr. Petrov pulls the wand away and hands me a towel to wipe off the gel. “The bleeding looks dramatic, but the baby is completely safe. The hematoma is separate from where the baby is implanted.”
The relief is so overwhelming I feel dizzy with it. The baby isokay. Alexei’s baby is okay. I didn’t?—
“What does she need to do?” Dimitri asks urgently.
“Strict bed rest for the next week. No strenuous activity—and that includes sex.” Dr. Petrov gives us both a pointed look that makes heat flood my face despite everything. How did he…? “The bleeding should taper off over the next few days. Somecramping is normal as the hematoma reabsorbs, but if the bleeding gets heavier and by that I mean, if you soak through more than one pad per hour, or if the cramping becomes unbearable, call me immediately.”
He starts packing up his equipment, then pauses. He pulls out a small photo from the ultrasound machine and hands it to Dimitri.
“Your baby,” he says simply.
Dimitri takes it with shaking hands and stares at the image like it holds all the secrets of the universe.
Dr. Petrov leaves with orders to rest, instructions for Mrs. Kozlov about what I can and cannot do, and a promise to check in tomorrow. The door closes behind him and suddenly we’re alone again.
The adrenaline drains out of me all at once, leaving me hollowed out and exhausted. But I can’t look away from Dimitri at the way he’s staring at that ultrasound photo with something that looks like wonder on his face.
“The baby’s okay,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Yeah, the baby’s okay.”
He sits down heavily in the chair beside the bed, still holding the photo. I watch him trace one finger over the tiny form, so gentle it makes my chest ache.
“When did this happen?” he asks quietly.
I tilt my head to the side, confused. “When did what happen?”
He finally looks up at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes shocks me. “When did this baby become so important to me?” He swallows hard, looking tortured. “When did you become?—”
He cuts himself off abruptly and looks away. His jaw works like he’s physically forcing words back down his throat.
I know what he was about to say. And I know why he stopped.
Because saying it out loud makes it real. It makes it something we can’t take back or pretend isn’t happening.
So I take pity on him. On both of us.
“You can go back to work now,” I say softly. “I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think so.” He carefully sets the ultrasound photo on the nightstand. “I’m staying.”
I startle, not expecting that. “Dimitri, you don’t have to.”
“I’m staying, Vera. Today and tomorrow and however long Dr. Petrov says you need to rest.” His tone brooks no argument. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
Part of me wants to protest and tell him he has work to do and an investigation to run. I’ll be fine with Mrs. Kozlov checking on me.
But the larger part—the part that’s still terrified from this morning and still reeling from how close we came to losing this baby—just nods.
“Okay.”
