Page 43 of Beautiful Agony

Am I doomed to walk forever in Pyotr's shadow?

"You're looking a bit pale there, Mr. Stravinsky," Dr. Chen comments as she labels the vial. "First-time fathers often get queasy around needles."

If only she knew the real reason for my unease.

But I keep that to myself.

Dr. Chen leans forward, her pen poised over her notepad. "Any symptoms that you have questions about, Mrs. Stravinsky?"

"Just one. The nausea comes and goes throughout the day," Lacey explains, her fingers still interlaced with mine. "Sometimes it hits in the afternoon, or even at night. And certain smells make it worse."

Dr. Chen nods, making quick notes. "That's all very normal. What we call 'morning sickness' isn't limited to mornings at all. Most women find it starts to fade around nine weeks."

She tears off a prescription pad and starts writing. "I'm prescribing prenatal vitamins. Make sure to take them with food to minimize nausea."

"How long before we know..." My voice catches slightly. "How far along she is?"

"The lab work will take a few days," Dr. Chen says, handing Lacey the prescription. "But based on your answers about your last period and when morning sickness started, I'd estimate anywhere between four to six weeks."

My stomach drops. Four to six weeks.

The timing lines up with that night on the stairs. The night of violence and anger. The night Lacey begged me to hurt her and I gave in to that darkness.

I feel the blood drain from my face as memories flood back—her screams of how much she hates me echoing off marble, the sting of her teeth on my palm, and the bruises I left on her skin.

The room spins slightly as Dr. Chen continues talking, but her words fade to a dull buzz in my ears. All I can focus on is the sickening possibility.

Our child conceived in violence.

Just like me.

The door clicks shutbehind Dr. Chen, leaving me alone with Lacey. My hands won't stop shaking. The timing of everything keeps spinning in my head—five to six weeks. The stairs. The blood. The violence.

"Vadim," Lacey's soft voice breaks through my spiral. "What's wrong?"

"The timing," I manage. "Four to six weeks. That night on the stairs..."

Her fingers find mine, squeezing gently in understanding. "We don't know that for certain."

"But we can't rule it out." My voice catches. "If we made our child through violence and pain..."

"Stop." Lacey cups my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. "You can't torture yourself with these questions. Dr. Chen will tell us exactly how far along I am." Her thumbs brush my cheeks. "And even if it was that night, it doesn't matter. That moment didn't define us then, and it won't define our child now."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you," she whispers. "The same way you knew me well enough to forgive me for pushing you. The same way you told me to stop blaming myself for everything that went wrong that night." Her forehead presses against mine. "If I can forgive you for that, why can't you?"

I close my eyes, letting her words wash over me. "Because I'm terrified of becoming like him."

And that's the truth, isn't it? It's what I've spent my entire life trying to run away from.

"You're not Pyotr," she says firmly. "You never were. You may live in his house, and you may have his blood flowing in your veins. But in your heart, you are Polina's son. And because of that, you'll be an amazing father."

14

LACEY

THREE DAYS LATER

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