Page 69 of The Mafia's Septuplets
A soft knock interrupts our standoff and Alina appears in the doorway with impeccable timing. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your appointment is in thirty minutes, Ms. Reynolds. Should I order the car?”
The reminder rattles me and clearly, Iskander too. We’ve spent precious time arguing about abstract principles instead of focusing on the immediate miracle of seeing our children’s development.
He moves toward his desk as if preparing to return to work. “Let me return a call to Timur, and then I’ll come with you.”
“No.” The word emerges with sharp finality that surprises all three of us. “If you care more about Mikhail than about seeing our children on an ultrasound screen, I’ll go alone, but I won’t pretend this doesn’t matter, and I won’t accept excuses for why revenge takes priority over our relationship.”
The ultimatum feels both empowering and terrifying. It’s a line drawn in sand that could either force the necessary change or create irreparable damage between us. I turn toward the door,suddenly exhausted by futile efforts to compete with obligations that will always feel more important than me or them.
“Willa, wait.” His voice carries something that might be capitulation. “You’re right. I said I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t do me any favors. Come because you want to see our children, not because I backed you into a corner with ultimatums.” I pause in the doorway, meeting his conflicted gaze directly. “Come because this matters to you as much as your important business.” I infuse the last two words with anger that makes him flinch. I’m not proud of it, but I enjoy seeing some kind of reaction from him. Am I getting through?
He nods slowly. “It does matter. You matter. I’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.”
As I walk away, Alina is still standing in the hallway, her expression curious as she observes our domestic drama. Something in her posture suggests she’s been listening longer than necessary for simple household coordination, though her professional demeanor gives away nothing. She’s probably ensuring I don’t need extra support.
“Ms. Reynolds?” Her voice carries gentle concern. “Are you feeling well? You seem distressed.”
“I’m fine. Just pregnant and frustrated with relationship dynamics that feel impossible to resolve.” The admission emerges before I can filter it through appropriate employer-employee boundaries.
“I’ve heard pregnancy emotions can be overwhelming, especially when combined with external pressures.” She steps closer, dropping her voice to something approaching conspiracy.“Sometimes, men need clear demonstrations of consequences before they adjust their priorities appropriately.”
The observation is more than simple sympathy, but it sparks my guilt rather than making me feel vindicated. “Do you think I was too harsh with my ultimatum?”
“I think you advocated for your needs with appropriate directness. Men like Mr. Taranov need clarity. If gentle requests haven’t produced desired changes, stronger measures may be necessary.”
I nod, though I still feel terrible about how unforgiving I was. “Thank you for the perspective. I should prepare for the appointment.” I move toward the stairs, suddenly eager to escape this house and the tension with Iskander.
“Of course. I hope the appointment provides positive news about the babies’ development.” Her voice returns to professional warmth, though her expression reflects genuine interest in the babies’ development. It’s good to have that support.
Fifteen minutes later, I stand beside the SUV as Anton checks his watch again for the third time in the last five minutes. Iskander hasn’t appeared, and he’s sent me no message explains the delay. It’s another broken promise wrapped up as good intentions.
“Should we wait longer, Ms. Reynolds?” Anton asks.
“No. He’s made his choice.” I climb into the vehicle and pull out my phone to call Harper as Anton gets behind the wheel and turns on the engine. “We’re leaving.”
Harper answers quickly. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Can you meet me at Dr. Layton’s office in fifteen minutes? Iskander was supposed to come, but something more important came up. Again.” Bitterness creeps into my voice despite my efforts to sound casual, and I blink back the hot sting of tears.
Her voice is full of sympathy, along with an undertone of irritation that I’m sure is directed toward Iskander. “Of course I’ll be there. Are you okay?”
“I will be.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want to break down right now.
As Anton drives through Charleston traffic, I sink into the leather seat. The truth hits hard. Iskander’s promises about change are just words. Every crisis gives him an excuse to postpone the partnership I need, leaving me to face our children’s milestones alone.
The regret comes in waves. Maybe I was too harsh and too demanding. The world he’s trying to leave doesn’t offer easy exits or convenient timing. He’s fighting for us as hard as he can. I know that, and I realize part of my harshness is my own fear spilling over.
I wish I knew better ways to get through to him without fighting. The pattern hurts with my repeated requests for attention, his defensive explanations, and arguments that solve nothing while pushing us farther apart.
When I get back, I’ll try talking calmly once again while trying to keep a firmer hold on my frustration. Maybe understanding him better will help me find words that reach him without making him defensive. We want the same future, but we’re going about it wrong.
Seven babies deserve parents who can work things out without threats and broken promises. They deserve a father who showsup because he wants to, not because I forced him, and a mother who isn’t always lashing out at their father because of fear and frustration. Today’s disappointment shows how much work we still have ahead.
The city passes by the bulletproof windows as we head to Dr. Layton’s office, and I wonder if love is enough for what’s coming. Charleston’s morning light filters through the glass, but inside this protected space, everything feels distant and uncertain.