Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she says softly. “Stay single, that is.”
The air between us stills.
I wrap my hand around hers, anchoring us both. “Me too.”
We kiss softly, nothing more than the press of her lips against mine, but it still knocks the breath from my lungs. After everything that’s happened this afternoon, the moment grounds me, reminding me that she’s okay. It was a fainting spell, nothing more serious than that.
A moment later, the door opens.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kozlov?”
The doctor steps inside, calm, tablet in hand, smiling politely as though he hasn’t just interrupted the one thing holding me together. I straighten but keep Katya’s hand in mine. She doesn’t let go either.
The doctor glances between us.
“I’m happy to report everything looks stable. There’s nothing alarming in your vitals, Mrs. Kozlova, no evidence of anything serious.” He pauses, glances at his tablet again. “But there is something I need to bring to your attention.”
She tenses beside me. I feel the shift, the sharp inhale, fear sliding back beneath her skin. The doctor glances up again, his expression neutral, careful.
“It appears that you’re pregnant.”
The words echo in my head, muffled and distant, as if they were meant for someone else. Katya goes still. I feel the news slam into her, the weight of it. Her hand slackens in mine, her breath catches. She blinks slowly, as though her brain is working overtime just to keep up.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor’s tone remains gentle. “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Kozlova. You’re in the very early stages, probably about three weeks along. You wouldn’t have even known without the bloodwork this early. That’s likely why you fainted today. It’s not uncommon in the first trimester.”
Katya still hasn’t moved. Neither have I.
Pregnant.
Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t one of them. Marriage was already a curveball I never saw coming, but a baby is something else entirely.
The doctor gives us a moment to let it settle before continuing.
“Your hormone levels look great and based on your current condition, I see no reason to keep you overnight. You’re free to go home, as long as you take it easy. Lots of water and make sure to eat well. Make an appointment for a follow-up with your OB in a few days.”
I nod on autopilot, and he leaves with a quiet assurance that someone will bring discharge paperwork soon. Then it’s just the two of us again. I shift in my seat, turning toward her, but she’s already looking at me. Eyes wide. Unblinking.
“I didn’t expect that,” she says slowly.
“Neither did I.”
She lets out a humorless laugh, more stunned than anything, utterly shell-shocked.
I reach for her again. She doesn’t pull away.
Her gaze drops to her lap, one hand drifting to her flat abdomen. There’s nothing to see yet, no change at all, but I know the moment it clicks. I see the realization bloom behind her eyes.
“Isaac,” she whispers.
I’m already moving, settling on the edge of the bed beside her, close and steady. My hand covers hers.
“I’m scared,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mom. I don’t even know if I’m doing this whole wife thing right yet, and now there’s going to be a baby?”
“You’re not alone,” I say gently. “We’ll figure this out together.”
She looks up at me, and something so open in her expression makes my chest ache. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been strong, defiant, sharp, and unwilling to bend for anyone. But in this moment, she lets herself be uncertain. She lets me in.
“I never imagined this,” she says, her voice cracking. “I spent so long trying not to feel anything about this marriage, trying to survive it like it was a prison sentence. But now…” She trails off.
“Now it’s real,” I finish for her. “This is actually your life.”
Her breath shudders out of her. “And it feels so big,” she whispers.
“It is big.”
I pause, letting my thumb trace across her knuckles.
She swallows hard. “What if I’m not ready?”
“Then we’ll get ready together.”
“I don’t even know how to be soft,” she admits. “You know me, I fight everything. What if I don’t have the mothering instinct?”
I smile gently. “You don’t have to be soft. You just have to be yourself. That will be more than enough.”
She exhales slowly and leans into me. Her forehead rests against my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her back, holding her close. We stay like that for a long time, not needing words.
I think of the kind of father I never had and the kind of home I never knew. The chaos, the silence, the constant pressure of legacy and loyalty. I don’t want that for her or for this child. Maybe I don’t know how to do it differently yet, but I want to learn.