Page 65 of Cruel Russian Pakhan

I felt guilty.

Maybe her brain was finally catching up to everything from today: the truth about her mother’s name, seeing the grave site, meeting Martha.

Fuck.

It was too much, too fast.

I should’ve taken it one piece at a time. But I wanted it done, wanted to rip the damn bandage off and get all the pain out in one go. Thought it’d be cleaner that way. Easier.

It wasn’t.

I ran my hand through my hair and exhaled through my mouth slowly. I pushed too hard, and now here we were in a damn clinic. And I hated that I might’ve been the reason.

About an hour later, Katya stirred in the bed. I stood, making sure I was in her line of sight when her eyes opened.

“Hey,” she said, her voice raspy. “Where are we?”

My brow furrowed. “We’re at the clinic. Don’t you remember?”

I watched as recognition flickered across her face, and then, slowly, it turned red.

“How do you feel?” I asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“A little queasy. Did the doctor say anything yet?”

I was just about to tell her that no doctor had come in yet when the door opened.

A dark-haired woman stepped inside, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a white coat and carried a clipboard, her smile warm but professional.

“Mr. and Mrs. Safin,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Dr. Green.”

We shook hands as she flipped through the papers on her clipboard.

“Based on the results of your blood tests, Mrs. Safin, you're pregnant,” Dr. Green smiled.

Holy fuck. A baby?

“P-pregnant?” Katya echoed, her voice trembling.

“Yes. We'll need to do an ultrasound to determine how far along you are. Given the dizzy spells, I recommend rest. Take it easy for now.”

Katya only nodded.

“I'll have the nurse come in shortly to take you for the ultrasound, do your vitals, and then we can talk about the next steps.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Green left, and the room fell into a strange, quiet tension.

A fucking baby.

Shit.

I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back.”

I didn’t wait for her to respond. I didn’t even meet her eyes. I couldn't, for fear of what I might find there.

I walked out, jaw tight, fists clenched, every step echoing like a gavel in my head.