Page 90 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“I promise.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “You’ll be the first to know my plans. Well, second after Damir.”

Liv nods, seemingly satisfied. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right to demand more. You deserve safety, and your baby deserves it too.”

“Thanks, Liv.” I glance at my watch. “I should get going. I have rounds in twenty minutes.”

We gather our trays and dispose of our trash. As we walk toward the exit, Liv bumps her shoulder against mine. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you. Day or night.”

“I know. Same goes for you.”

We part ways at the elevator, Liv heading back to the ICU while I decide to take the stairs. I need the physical activity to clear my head. As I reach the second floor, I’m drawn toward the maternity ward. I pause at the large window of the nursery, watching the newborns. Some sleep peacefully, tiny chests rising and falling, while others squirm and stretch, testing their new environment. A nurse inside notices me and smiles, holding up a baby boy wrapped in a blue blanket.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” says a voice beside me.

I turn to see Nurse Martinez, one of the oldest and most experienced nurses in the hospital. Her silver hair is pulled back in a neat bun and laugh lines crinkle around her eyes.

“They are.” I turn back to the window.

“You’ve got the glow,” she says matter-of-factly.

I look at her, surprised. “What?”

Nurse Martinez chuckles warmly. “The pregnancy glow. I can always tell.”

“How?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I’ve helped deliver over three thousand babies in my forty years here,” she says, pride evident in her voice. “After a while, you develop a sense for these things. It’s in the eyes mostly. That mix of wonder and terror.”

I laugh despite myself. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

“How far along are you?” she asks.

“Fourteen weeks. Eighty percent sure it’s a boy.”

Nurse Martinez nods approvingly. “Boys are special. I have three sons myself. All grown now with children of their own.”

“Were you scared?” I ask. “When you were pregnant with your first, I mean?”

“Terrified.” She grins. “My husband was in the military and deployed overseas. I didn’t know if he’d make it back for the birth. I didn’t know if I could do it alone.”

“What happened?”

“He made it back, just barely. He walked into the delivery room still in uniform.” Her eyes grow distant with the memory. “But even if he hadn’t, I would have managed. That’s what motherhood does to you. It changes your priorities and shows you how strong you really are.”

I watch as a nurse inside the nursery lifts a fussing baby, soothing it with gentle pats. “My situation is...complicated.”

“Whose isn’t?” she says with a shrug. “My mother didn’t approve of my husband. She said he’d never amount to anything, so we eloped, and she didn’t speak to me for two years.”

“Did you reconcile?” I ask.

“Eventually after my oldest was born.” She smiles at the memory. “The minute she held him, all that anger just melted away. Fortunately, I had friends to help me get through the estrangement and Carlos’s deployments. Sometimes, the family we choose is stronger than the one we’re born into.”

Her words bring a lump to my throat. I think about the family I’ve chosen—Damir, our unborn son, and even Valeriya and Fydor in their own way, and the family I was born into—a mother who died too young, and a father who abandoned me.I can’t argue with her assessment. “Thank you,” I say to Nurse Martinez. “That’s beautiful.”

She pats my arm. “Don’t you have rounds to get to, Dr. Clarke?”

I nod, checking my watch again. “I should go.”

As I walk away from the nursery, the nurse’s words echo in my mind. The family we choose. I’ve chosen Damir, for better or worse. Now I need to decide if I can live with all that choice entails, or if I need to make a different choice for my son’s future.

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