Page 6 of The Russian's Bought Bride

“Yes,” I cut in without hesitation. “Yes, do it.”

“The wait time—” he begins.

“I don’t care about the wait time!” I snap, panic surging in me, making me feel more unpredictable than I ever have been. “We’ll find a way, we’ll—”

“Miss Young,” he says, tone sharpening just enough to stop me. “If we wait for a donor through official channels, your father may not survive long enough to receive one.”

Everything in me freezes at the mention of it, but before I can ignore the answer settled in my mind, I blurt out, “I’m a match.”

The doctor blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been tested before,” I say quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “When his health first started to decline, they ran compatibility tests, and I’m a match. I can donate.”

Silence fills the hallway as his expression shifts slowly, then something unreadable flickers across his face before it smooths over again.

“What you are proposing is a significant procedure,” Dr. Volodin says carefully. “There are risks involved, both for you and for your father. Normally, we would not perform a last-minute surgery like this.”

“I know that,” I say, though my voice shakes with the need to act. “I know. But if it’s this or lose him, then there’s no decision to make. You have my consent…I’ll sign whatever I need to sign.”

Despite knowing the surgery going wrong was a possibility, I can’t live with the thought of this being it.

I’m not losing him, not like this, and not when I can still do something.

“Please,” I add, softer now. “Test me again if you have to, and do whatever you need. But don’t let him die when this is still a viable option.”

The doctor studies me for a long moment, then he nods. “If you are indeed compatible, then we can proceed. But we will need to act quickly.”

Relief crashes over me so hard my knees nearly buckle, regardless of the potential risks I’ll be facing myself.

Taking a deep breath, I nod as a wave of conviction settles over me. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Come with me,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him down the hallway.

I trail him without hesitation, not letting myself second-guess this plan regardless of how terrifying it sounds.

Everything moves quickly after that, almost too quickly for me to fully process.

Nurses guide me into a different wing with efficient movements, their voices calm as they explain what’s happening and get me where I’m meant to be. Consent forms are placed in front of me, including pages and pages of medical language that blur together as I skim them.

As expected, they highlight every risk, potential complication, and every outcome that might end up as my reality.

I sign anyway, hitting every line and every waiver.

My hand trembles slightly as I write my name, but I don’t stop. This is the right thing…it has to be.

Eventually, they draw blood, run tests, and ask questions I answer automatically while my mind is elsewhere, flitting between the operating room, my dad, and the fragile thread his life is hanging by.

“You’re very brave,” one of the nurses says quietly as she adjusts the IV in my arm, giving me a subtle smile.

I force a quiet breath from my nose. “I’m terrified, but I’m just not ready to lose him.”

She gives me a sad look, full of empathy. “I understand.”

The truth is, I don’t think anyone really understands what this feels like unless they’re in it. This constant, gnawing fearthat no matter what you do, it might not be enough. That even after all of this, I might still walk out of here alone, if I do at all.

A different doctor comes in to go over the procedure shortly after. He explains how they’ll remove my kidney and make sure I’m stable before transplanting it into my father. If everything goes well, there will be mutual healing before we can return home, and as long as we progress as expected, we’ll be in the clear.

His voice is steady and clinical, yet underlined with reassurance, and I latch onto that.