Page 60 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

She’s sitting on the examination table, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her head is bowed slightly, dark hair falling around her face. She looks up when she hears me, and the tears glistening in her eyes hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Makar,” she says, her voice trembling.

I’m by her side in an instant, lowering myself into the chair next to her. My hand moves to her arm instinctively, my grip firm but gentle. “What happened?” I ask, my voice low but steady, though the fear simmering beneath the surface threatens to break through.

The doctor clears his throat, stepping forward with a clipboard in hand. He’s middle-aged, his expression serious but professional.

“Mr. Sharov,” he begins, nodding briefly. “We’ve been monitoring your wife’s condition. She’s experiencing symptoms consistent with preeclampsia.”

My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

The doctor’s gaze shifts between us, his tone measured. “Preeclampsia is a condition that can develop during pregnancy. It’s marked by high blood pressure and other complications, which can be dangerous for both the mother and the baby if not managed carefully.”

Dangerous. The word echoes in my mind, a cold knot tightening in my chest.

“What kind of complications?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“Hannah’s blood pressure is elevated, which is our primary concern. Left untreated, it can lead to serious issues, including damage to the organs or premature delivery. However,” he continues, his tone softening, “we’ve caught it early. With proper monitoring and medication, we can manage it.”

Hannah shifts beside me, her hands clenching tightly in her lap. I glance at her, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her lower lip trembles despite her efforts to remain composed.

“What happens now?” I ask, my gaze locked on the doctor.

“We’ll prescribe medication to help control her blood pressure,” he explains. “Regular check-ups will be essential, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on the baby’s development.”

I nod, my mind already calculating the next steps. “She’ll have everything she needs,” I say firmly. “You’ll make sure of that.”

The doctor nods, sensing the finality in my tone. “Of course, Mr. Sharov. I’ll have the prescriptions ready shortly.”

As he steps away, I turn my attention back to Hannah. She’s staring down at her hands, her breath uneven.

“Hannah,” I say softly, leaning closer.

She doesn’t look up immediately, but when she does, the vulnerability in her eyes threatens to undo me.

“I’m scared,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

My hand moves to hers, covering it completely. “You don’t have to be,” I say, my voice steady. “I’ll handle this. I’ll handle everything.”

Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, the tension between us fades, replaced by something deeper. Trust, maybe. Or the beginnings of it.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling but resolute.

Hannah’s fingers tremble faintly beneath mine as she glances toward the doctor, who’s speaking with a nurse just outside the door. She pulls in a shaky breath, her shoulders stiff, before turning her gaze back to me.

“They’re keeping me here for a few days,” she says softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

The words hit me like a slap. My jaw tightens, and a sharp sense of unease ripples through me. I don’t like it—not one bit.

“For what?” I ask, my voice clipped.

“Observation, I guess.” she explains. “Make sure the medication is working and that the baby is okay.”

Her focus shifts momentarily to her stomach, her hand brushing over the slight curve there. She doesn’t have to say it outright for me to understand what she’s feeling. She’s willing to endure anything if it means keeping the baby safe.

It grates at me, the selflessness she doesn’t even try to hide. “And you’re fine with this?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.

“As long as the baby’s okay,” she replies, her voice firm.

---