Page 92 of Imperfect Desires

Not once.

And as the blur of headlights sweeps over us, I let my eyes close—for the first time in days—knowing if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up still in his arms.

The hospital feels too bright.

After days of darkness, smoke, and fear, the sterile white lights sting my eyes. I blink against them, overwhelmed by the sudden contrast between survival and safety.

Everything moves quickly. Nurses take one look at my bruised face and the protective way Lev cradles me, and they usher us into a private room without questions. Viktor stays outside to handle paperwork and security. Zasha disappears with him, giving us space.

It’s just Lev and me now.

And the life between us.

I lie back on the examination bed, my body stiff, fragile, trembling. I don’t even know if I’m more afraid of what they’ll find… or of what they won’t.

My fingers clutch the edge of the gown. Lev sits beside me, his expression carved from stone, but his hand trembles as it slides into mine.

He doesn’t speak.

But he doesn’t let go.

The doctor enters—older, female, efficient but kind. She speaks softly, as if I might shatter. I almost do when she pulls the cold gel onto my stomach and murmurs, “You said you want to seehow our little one is doing before having your bruises checked?” I nod as she takes a seat.

The machine hums. The probe presses lightly to my skin.

Then—

Whoosh-whoosh… whoosh-whoosh…

It fills the room like thunder in a cathedral.

My own heart stops for a moment at the sound of my baby's heartbeat.

Strong. Sure. Alive.

The sound punches straight through me, all the way to my bones. I didn’t know I was holding my breath until I hear that rhythmic echo, steady at 110 beats per minute.

A sob chokes in my throat, but it doesn’t escape. I turn my head. Lev is still holding my hand. But his other hand rises slowly to swipe at his eyes. There are tears there. Real ones.

His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath, and when he finally looks at me, I see it. All of it. The fear. The guilt. The wonder. The love.

We say nothing.

Because there’s nothing left to say. Everything is in that heartbeat. Everything is in his eyes. Everything is in the way he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles like they’re sacred. I blink away tears of my own, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe…

We’re going to be okay.

We’re going to make it.

All three of us.

32

Lev

I sit in the armchair across from the bed, elbows on my knees, hands clenched tight. She’s here. Safe. Clean. Breathing. But I’m still a mess.

She looks too fragile under the blankets. The bruises are fading, but I see them. Mendes is dead, but the damage he left lingers in her eyes. I hate that I couldn't protect her from it.

---