Page 39 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
I shake my head. “I’ve been sick for weeks. Nothing helps. I just… I need to know if everything’s okay.”
She nods, warm hands gentle on my arm as she helps me onto the table. “We’ll take a look. Just breathe for me.”
The nurse has me take another pregnancy test. It’s positive, of course. Then she leads me to a separate room and has me lie down.
The gel is cold on my skin. I watch the ceiling, counting the stains in the tiles, trying not to flinch. The nurse moves the wand, the screen flickers to life, and suddenly the room feels impossibly still.
After a long, unbearable silence, the nurse gives a soft little laugh. “Well, there’s your answer.” She turns the screen so I can see, points with a gloved finger. “You see that? And that? Two little hearts, right there. You’re having twins.”
The world goes very quiet. I stare at the screen, at the flutter of two heartbeats, impossibly small, impossibly real. My mind races with questions:How, why, what do I do now?My throat goes tight, tears springing hot and sudden. Twins. Not just one. Two. The enormity of it slams into me, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe.
The nurse squeezes my hand, gentle and steady. “You’re not alone, you hear me? You can do this. You’re already doing it.”
As I lie there, watching the lives I’ve carried this far, all I can think about is Markian: his hands, his voice, his promises and his threats. He’ll never let us go. The fear is bigger now, the danger doubled, but so is the hope. So is the love.
I close my eyes and hold on to the sound of two hearts beating, not knowing what comes next—only that nothing will ever be the same.
I thank the nurse with a voice I barely recognize as my own, shaky and small, and slide off the exam table, one handpressed protectively to my belly. My legs feel hollow as I gather my things.
The nurse’s smile is gentle, but I see a flicker of worry in her eyes. She can sense I’m not just another expectant mother with a partner waiting in the lobby, that there’s a shadow clinging to me.
I want to tell her everything, want to beg her for help or advice or just a place to rest. But I know better. I know how quickly kindness curdles to suspicion, how easily strangers become threats.
Outside, the sun is high but the parking lot is empty. I sit on the curb, my bag hugged to my chest, and try to make sense of the ultrasound picture folded inside. Two. Twins. I try to imagine them, tiny and perfect, hearts fluttering in the darkness.
I wonder if they’ll look like him, if they’ll inherit his sharp jaw or his icy eyes. I wonder if they’ll ever know who their father really is. I wonder if that’s something I should hope for, or fear.
The walk back to the bus stop is slow. The world looks different now, edges sharper, colors deeper, the future stretched out before me in a thousand terrifying directions.
I keep my head down, count every crack in the pavement, flinch at every car that slows even a little. I’m jumpy, skittish, like a rabbit in a world full of wolves. It’s not just about me anymore, and the weight of that is nearly suffocating.
Back in the motel, I lock the door twice, jam a chair beneath the handle, and sit with my back to the wall.
The air is stale and close, heavy with secrets and worry. I unfold the ultrasound and stare at the grainy shapes, the proof that I am not as alone as I feel. My hands shake, tears wellingagain, but I force myself to take deep breaths, just like the nurse said.
I wonder how much longer I can keep running. I’ve been careful. Cash only, never the same place twice, always leaving before anyone can remember my face.
Except, Markian’s reach is long, and his anger legendary.
The thought of him hunting me, finding me, taking these babies from me—it’s a fear that lives in my bones now, a shadow I can’t escape.
Another fear grows too: What if I can’t do this alone? What if something goes wrong? What if my body gives out before I can get somewhere safe, somewhere I can be more than just a ghost with a secret? I remember the nurse’s words, the soft certainty in her voice:“You’re not alone. You can do this.”
I hold on to that, clutching it like a lifeline as the sky outside the motel window turns from blue to purple, then to the deep velvet of night. I try to picture a future where I am enough for them, where I can give them more than fear and flight. I picture three plates on a cheap motel table, laughter in the air instead of silence, little hands in mine. It seems impossible, but I let myself believe in it for just a moment. I need to believe in something.
But Markian’s voice creeps in at the edges of my hope. I hear him in every car that idles outside, in every stranger who lingers too long in the motel lobby. I replay his promises and his threats, the way he looked at me when he thought I might betray him. I remember how fiercely he claimed me, how easily he could destroy me. I know he will never stop looking. Not now. Not after what I’ve taken from him.
There’s a knock on the wall next door. Then angry voices, the sharp sound of someone dropping a bottle. I jump, heart racing, and for a second, I wonder if it’s already too late. If he’s already here. If I’ll have to run again tonight, shoes half laced, bag barely packed, two lives already relying on me to stay ahead of a man who’s never lost anything in his life.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but it’s useless. Every creak, every footstep, every howl of wind makes my pulse skitter. I lay awake, hands on my belly, whispering promises to the twins I’m carrying: “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let him hurt you, even if it costs me everything.”
In the morning, I wake up exhausted, the nausea already coiling tight. I swallow dry toast, keep the tap running while I throw up, then splash water on my face, staring at the dark circles under my eyes. I look older, harder. I barely recognize myself.
I search for a new motel in the next town over, pack my bag, check my burner phone for any missed calls—none, thank God—and leave before anyone can ask questions. My life has become a series of goodbyes: to comfort, to home, to the girl I used to be. I am something new now, something desperate and wild, something willing to do anything to survive.
At the bus stop, I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Markian’s men—Lui, maybe, or some faceless Bratva soldier.
There’s no one, thank God.
