Page 70 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Kirill tilts his head to me with an eyebrow raised.

“No,” I say. “One was scheduled, though. The primary physician at Marlowe wanted to get me on routine screenings.”

“We can do one now.” She doesn’t wait for a response. She taps a few things on the tablet and then hands me something to sign. “Your consent.”

I glance at Kirill, who nods. I sign it, and then I go out into the hall.

“I can do this alone,” I tell Kirill. I want to do this alone.

He nods and then brushes a kiss on my cheek. Acting like the doting husband, but is he acting?

In a different wing, the exam room is colder and more clinical. The paper on the vinyl table crinkles softly beneath my butt as I sit there, waiting. I press my palms against my thighs, trying to steady the small, creeping unease in my chest.

A nurse comes in and tells me to lie back. I focus on her voice, on its cadence, on the simple act of breathing in and out as she slides something cold and metal inside me.

I wait for pain. I wait for her to tell me there’s blood.

Nothing.

I swallow past the tightness in my throat, and ask the delicate question before I can second-guess myself.

“Did I have a baby?”

The nurse’s head pops up from between my legs, her expression carefully neutral. “Your records didn’t indicate a previous pregnancy or childbirth.”

And they never did any kind of exam here. Or this would have come out years ago.

I rear up on my elbows. “It turns out, before my accident, I was married, and I had a daughter.”

The nurse’s brows draw together. “Your father never disclosed that,” she says.

“I just found out,” I murmur. “My father didn’t approve of my husband.”

“And he kept that information from you?” The alarm in her voice has my heart pounding.

“He passed away shortly after I was brought here. I’m sure he would have told me eventually. It’s in the past. I’m home now. Back with my husband. With my daughter. I just wanted to be sure. You can imagine not knowing.” I clear my throat and look down. “Or maybe you can’t.”

“No, I can’t imagine that.” She returns to the exam. Nodding a few moments later, she says, “You have scarring consistent with childbirth. And it looks like you had an episiotomy.”

When I ask what that was, and she tells me, I clench. “Ouch.”

“Part of the process.” She finishes the exam. “I’ll get your cervix cells to the lab. When you’re back for your next visit, we’ll have the results. But you look healthy. And married. Shall I put in a script for birth control?”

The question hits me in the chest, and a sob builds in my throat. Kirill said we’re not those people anymore.

I shake my head. “We’re taking things slow.”

She snaps off her gloves and comes around to the head of the exam table. “Even in the marital bed, you have choices.”

I just nod. No marital bed.

I’m conflicted about how much that bothers me. By the time we leave Norridge, the sky outside has dulled to overcast gray, the wind a little less kind. I pull my coat, the old green coat, tighter around myself as Kirill guides me toward his car. Other SUVs wait in a formation.

I stop him and look into his eyes. “Violet is mine, isn’t she? The nurse confirmed I’d had a baby.”

Nodding, he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and says, “Good. I want you to have your voice. Our marriage was never supposed to be a prison.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s the only thing I can offer him right now. “You asked me not to go see my father. And I did anyway. I believe you.” I wrap my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth. “This is all my fault.”