Page 69 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
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Zita
My body is changing in ways I never anticipated, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. At four months pregnant with sextuplets, I’m already showing like most women do at seven or eight months with a single baby. My abdomen has expanded dramatically to accommodate six growing children, stretching my skin until it feels tight and foreign. Every movement requires careful consideration, every position needs adjustment, and my center of gravity has shifted so dramatically that I feel clumsy and off-balance constantly.
The woman who once walked into Tigran’s business meetings uninvited and challenged his authority in front of his men now struggles to get out of bed without assistance. The woman who refused to be intimidated by Russian Mafia bosses now needs help putting on her shoes because I can’t reach my feet over my enormous belly. It’s humiliating, terrifying, and completely at odds with everything I’ve always believed about my own strength.
Dr. Kozlova’s latest appointment brought news that made everything worse. I need complete bed rest, effective immediately. The strain on my body from carrying six babies is becoming dangerous, and she’s concerned about early labor, high blood pressure, and complications that could threaten both me and the children.
“Six babies put enormous stress on every system in your body.” Her explanation was clinical but sympathetic as she reviewed my test results. “Your heart is working overtime, your kidneys are struggling to keep up, and your cervix is showing signs of shortening that could lead to premature delivery.”
“How premature?” Tigran’s question came from beside the examination table where he’d been holding my hand throughout the appointment.
“If we don’t manage this carefully, we could be looking at delivery as early as twenty-four weeks.” Her honesty was appreciated but terrifying. “That would mean extremely premature babies with significant health risks.”
The thought of twenty-four-week babies fighting for their lives in incubators while their parents pray they’re strong enough to survive makes my chest constrict with anxiety. I can’t let that happen.
Now, I’m confined to the master bedroom of our new Lake Forest estate, surrounded by medical equipment and security measures that make me feel like a prisoner in a very expensive cage. The house is beautiful, with picture windows overlooking the lake, enough space for six children, and the army of people required to keep them safe, but beauty doesn’t matter when you’re trapped in bed watching your body change beyond recognition.
“You’re scowling at the ceiling again.” Tigran’s voice comes from the doorway where he’s clearly been watching me without making his presence known. “The doctor said avoiding stress is crucial for keeping the babies safe.”
“Then maybe you should avoid telling me I’m scowling.” The words come out sharply, but I’m frustrated, uncomfortable, and tired of feeling helpless.
Instead of snapping back or getting defensive, he crosses the room and settles into the chair beside the bed that’s become his regular spot. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”
“You can give me my body back.” I gesture at my swollen abdomen, which seems to grow larger every day. “You can make it so I don’t need help getting dressed or reaching things on the nightstand. You can make it so I feel like myself instead of like an incubator with legs.”
“I can’t do any of those things.” Tigran’s honesty is both frustrating and oddly comforting. “I can make sure you have everything you need while your body does the incredible work of growing our children.”
“Incredible work.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Is that what we’re calling this? It feels more like my body is being taken over by aliens who are systematically destroying my ability to function as an independent human being.”
“You’re growing six healthy babies simultaneously, which is something that happens to fewer than five women in a million.” Tigran reaches for my hand. “Your body is doing something extraordinary, even if it doesn’t feel that way to you.”
“My body is making me weak.” The admission comes out quietly. “I used to be able to handle anything, and now I can’t even get out of bed without assistance.”
“You’re not weak.” His voice carries absolute conviction. “You’re carrying six children while managing a high-risk pregnancy and dealing with bed rest restrictions. That requires more strength than anything you’ve ever done before.”
“It doesn’t feel like strength.” I try to shift to a more comfortable position and have to accept his help adjusting the pillows behind my back. “It feels like my body is failing me when I need it most.”
“Your body is succeeding at the most important job it’s ever had.” He arranges the pillows carefully. “It’s keeping our children safe and healthy while they grow strong enough to survive in this world.”
I want to argue with him, to maintain my frustration and self-pity, but the gentle way he touches my expanded belly makes it difficult to stay angry. His hands are warm and careful, and when he presses his palm against a spot where I’ve been feeling movement all morning, one of the babies kicks in response.
“They know your voice.” The realization comes with a flutter of movement from multiple babies responding to their father’s presence. “They’re already responding to you.”
“I talk to them every night when you’re sleeping.” Tigran’s admission surprises me. “I tell them about their mother, about how strong and fierce and beautiful you are.” Tigran’s thumb traces circles on my belly. “I tell them their mother is the bravest person I’ve ever known, and they should aspire to be like her.”
“I don’t feel brave.” I cover his hand with mine. “I feel scared, vulnerable, and completely out of control.”
“Being scared doesn’t make you less brave.” Tigran looks directly at me. “Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. You’re doing something terrifying for people you love, which is the definition of courage.”
“I’m terrified something will go wrong.” The confession slips out before I can stop it. “I’m afraid I’ll go into labor too early and lose them. What if my body isn’t strong enough to carry them to a safe delivery date?”
“Dr. Kozlova is monitoring everything carefully.” Tigran’s voice is steady and reassuring. “We have the best medical team money can buy, and we’re prepared for any complications that might arise.”
“What if being prepared isn’t enough?” Tears starting to form. “What if loving them and wanting them and planning for them doesn’t matter because my body can’t do what it’s supposed to do?”
“Then we deal with whatever happens and love them through it, but you’re going to do this. I have faith in you.” Tigran leans down to kiss my forehead. “We’re all going to get through this.”
