Page 32 of Revenge

“Viktor, please. Don’t be like this. You have to at least try. You need to give us a chance for the sake of our baby.”

“Try what?” I walk past her.

“You can’t do this to me. You’re my husband, and you need to start acting like it,” she wails. I never realized how annoying her voice is. The sound of something collapsing stops me, and I turn to see Fiona on the ground.

“Fuck!” I walk over. “Fiona, wake up.”

I shake her a little. She’s breathing, so she must have fainted. I pick her up and leave the gym. Not having any other choice, I take her to my bedroom. I lay her down, but she’s still unconscious. Taking out my cell, I dial Dr. Smith and ask him to come and check her out. As I finish the call, I hear her moan.

“Fiona,” I say, moving toward the bed.

“What happened?” she asks as she tries to sit.

“You fainted. I’ve called Dr. Smith, and he’s on his way. Relax.”

“Okay.”

It’s twenty minutes before the doctor shows up at the house. Dr. Smith has been with Fiona for fifteen minutes now, going through a list of questions. As I listen to her answers, I realize she isn’t taking care of herself. She’s giving the doctor every excuse she can think of.

“You need to eat a proper diet, Mrs. Manarch. I’ll leave you the number for a nutritionist. I’ll have my receptionist call you to schedule your next visit. It’s important to keep your appointments.” I’m curious about what he means by his statement.

“Let’s take a look, Mrs. Manarch, and see what happened.” I walk over to the window as he examines her.

“Viktor will make sure I do the right thing, won’t you, baby?” Fiona says, fluttering her eyes in my direction once Dr. Smith finishes the examination.

I ignore Fiona’s attempt to look coy and turn to Dr. Smith.

“Dr. Smith, may I have a word outside?”

“Sure,” he says before turning to look back at Fiona and adding, “Mrs. Manarch, don’t hesitate to contact the office if you need anything.”

“I won’t.”

Once outside the bedroom, I close the door and lead the doctor away to where Fiona can’t overhear us.

“How is she really doing?” I ask.

“She’s dehydrated and doesn’t seem to be eating properly. After talking to her, it sounds like she’s under a lot of stress, which can affect the health of her and the child.”

I shake my head. This is the last thing I need right now.

“What can I do?” I might not care about Fiona, but at the end of the day, she’s carrying my child. The DNA paternity test proved it.

“Make sure she eats, takes her vitamins, and most of all, no stress…” he hesitates for a second, looking at the ground before raising his gaze to meet mine, “… I noticed something else.”

“What?” I demand.

“I could smell alcohol on her breath. I don’t need to tell you the risks of her drinking.”

“I know she was a drinker before the baby. She stopped, I thought.” I feel like a dick for not noticing what was happening under my roof.

“I’ll do a full panel to see how she and the baby are doing. Hopefully, it’s just alcohol and nothing else.”

What the fuck is Fiona thinking? This is Fiona. I’m sure she isn’t thinking.

“I’ll have someone take her to the appointments,” I advise.

“She just needs support. As long as she does what she needs to do, she and the child will be fine.”

---