Page 66 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice low and strained. “We’ll do it your way. If I see even the slightest sign of danger—”

“You’ll do what?” she challenges, her eyes narrowing.

I meet her gaze, my own hardening. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive,” I say firmly. “Even if you hate me for it.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes searching mine as if trying to find the truth in my words.

“Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t come to that,” she says quietly, her hand tightening around mine.

The doctor nods slightly, leaning forward to adjust his glasses. His tone shifts to something more clinical, steady, and deliberate. “To manage preeclampsia effectively, we’ll need to implement several measures. This will require diligence on your part, Mrs. Sharov, as well as careful monitoring by us.”

Hannah squeezes my hand, her grip firm despite the worry etched into her features. I glance at her, studying the determination in her eyes. Whatever this entails, she’s prepared to face it.

“First,” the doctor begins, flipping through a chart, “we’ll prescribe antihypertensive medication to manage your blood pressure. It’s essential to keep it controlled to avoid further complications.”

“What kind of complications?” I ask sharply, my focus snapping back to him.

“Without intervention, preeclampsia can escalate into eclampsia, which involves seizures and other life-threatening conditions for both the mother and the baby,” he says, his voice steady but serious. “The goal is to prevent escalation entirely.”

I grit my teeth, my free hand curling into a fist on my knee. Hannah, however, nods. “What else?” she asks, her voice calm despite the weight of his words.

“You’ll also need to start taking a low-dose aspirin daily,” he continues, “which can help reduce the risk of severe preeclampsia. In addition, calcium supplements will support your overall vascular health.”

Hannah’s lips press into a thin line, and I can see her absorbing every detail, every term.

“Dietary changes will be crucial,” the doctor adds. “Low-sodium, nutrient-rich foods will help manage blood pressure. Hydration is also vital. Most importantly, you’ll need to prioritize rest.”

“Rest?” she repeats, her brow furrowing.

“Bed rest,” the doctor clarifies, his gaze meeting hers. “You’ll need to minimize physical activity and spend most of your time reclining. Standing or moving for extended periods could exacerbate your symptoms. This might feel restrictive, but it’s necessary to keep both you and the baby stable.”

Hannah’s grip on my hand tightens, but she nods slowly.

“There will likely be side effects from the medications,” the doctor continues. “Fatigue, dizziness, nausea. You may also experience swelling in your hands and feet, which is common in cases like this. I recommend wearing compression stockings to help manage that.”

Hannah doesn’t flinch, though I notice the slight tremble in her hand. “I’ll manage,” she says quietly.

The doctor pauses, his gaze softening slightly. “It won’t be easy. You’ll feel fatigued, uncomfortable, and limited in your movements. But with regular monitoring, we can ensure the best possible outcome for you and your child.”

“How often will the checkups be?” I ask, my voice tense.

“Weekly, at a minimum,” the doctor replies. “We’ll need to check her blood pressure, protein levels, and the baby’s growth and development regularly. In some cases, daily monitoring may be required, but we’ll adjust as needed.”

He reaches for a notepad, jotting down a list before handing it to Hannah. “Here’s the prescriptions for the medications you’ll need to start immediately. I’ve also included arecommendation for a home blood pressure monitor so you can track it daily. Bring the readings to each appointment.”

Hannah takes the paper, her hand shaking slightly. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

The doctor stands, his gaze steady as he looks between us. “Do you have any questions?”

I glance at Hannah, waiting for her to speak, but she shakes her head. “No, I think I understand.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “We’ll be here to support you every step of the way. If you experience any symptoms—severe headaches, blurred vision, abdominal pain—don’t hesitate to come back immediately. Those could be signs of worsening conditions.”

I rise to my feet, helping Hannah up beside me. “She’ll be fine,” I say, my voice low but resolute. “She’ll have everything she needs.”

The doctor nods again, stepping aside to let us leave.

The air outside is cold and crisp, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of the hospital. Hannah clutches the prescriptions tightly in her hand, her other hand resting on her belly as we walk toward the car.

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