The doctor blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“Get. Out.” Dimitri’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it's more terrifying than if he’d shouted. “Now.”
Dr. Petrov looks aghast. “Mr. Volkov, I really should discuss the pregnancy with your wife, go over prenatal care, and make sure?—”
“I saidget out.” This time there’s no mistaking the threat in his voice. “Take your equipment and leave.Now.”
Dr. Petrov looks at me, clearly torn between his medical duty and self-preservation. I manage a tiny nod. He needs to leave before he gets caught in whatever is about to happen.
“I’ll... I’ll come back tomorrow to check on you,” he says quietly, quickly gathering his equipment. “To discuss next steps. In the meantime, try to eat something, stay hydrated, and rest.” He pauses at the door, looking back at Dimitri with something like concern. “Be gentle with her. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Then he’s gone, closing the door softly behind him.
Leaving me alone with Dimitri.
The silence stretches out, painful and suffocating. I can hear my own heartbeat, fast and panicked, competing with the memory of that other heartbeat still echoing in my ears.
Dimitri hasn’t moved. He hasn’t looked away from the spot where the ultrasound was. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and I can see him breathing—slow, measured breaths like he’s trying to maintain control.
Then he speaks, and his voice is so cold it makes me shiver.
“You’re eight weeks pregnant.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. My throat is too tight to speak.
“Which means you were pregnant when we got married.” Still that eerily calm voice. Still not looking at me. “When I…” His jaw clenches. “Whenweconsummated the marriage.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You’ve been pregnant this entire time. Two weeks of marriage, and every single day, you’ve been carrying someone else’s child.”
The words hurt and they’re meant to hurt but they’re also true, so I don’t defend myself. I sit here, waiting for the explosion I know is coming.
“Who?” The question is quiet. “Who’s the father?”
This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading since the wedding, the moment I found out I was pregnant, and when I saw Alexei’s casket.
I can’t tell him. If I tell him, everything—everything—will be destroyed.
But I can’t not tell him either. Not anymore. Not now that he knows I’m pregnant.
“Vera.” My name on his lips is a warning. “I asked you a question. Who is the father?”
My hands fist in the sheets so tightly I’m afraid I’ll rip them. I shake my head. “I can’t?—”
“Youwilltell me.” His voice rises slightly, the calm starting to crack. “You’re my wife. You’re carrying someone else’s child. I have a right to know who?—”
“It doesn’t matter?—”
“It MATTERS!” The shout makes me flinch, pressing back against the headboard. He takes a step closer to the bed, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I’m genuinely afraid he might hurt me. “Tell me who the father is. Right now.”
I’m crying. When did I start crying? Tears course down my face, hot and fast, and I can’t stop them. I can’t stopanyof this.
“Please,” I sob. “Please don’t make me?—”
“WHO?!”
The word explodes from him, so loud and violent that I actually cry out. His face is twisted with rage now, all that careful control completely shattered. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hands clenched so tight I can see the half moons on his skin where his nails dig into his palms.
