Page 149 of Nine Months to Love
OLIVIA
I hate hospitals. Always have. Even before I became a doctor, the fluorescent lights and sterile hallways made my skin crawl. That was probably my mom’s doing.
Now, walking through the ICU at Mass General with Stefan’s hand gripping mine, I hate them even more.
We’re directed to a private room at the end of the hall. Two of Stefan’s men stand guard outside, their faces blank but alert. They nod as we approach, and one of them opens the door.
Babushka lies in the bed, so small beneath the white sheets. Tubes run from her arms. Monitors beep steadily, tracking her vitals. Her silver hair is loose against the pillow, her face pale but peaceful.
She’s alive.
That’s what matters.
Stefan freezes in the doorway. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at his grandmother like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he blinks.
“Come on,” I murmur, tugging his hand gently.
We move to her bedside. Stefan sinks into the chair beside her and reaches for her hand, careful not to disturb the IV.
“Babushka,” he whispers.
She doesn’t respond. The machines keep beeping their steady rhythm.
A doctor appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She’s young, maybe early thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. “Mr. Safonov?”
Stefan doesn’t look up. “How is she?”
“Stable. The bullet to her shoulder was clean—went straight through without hitting bone. The chest wound was more serious, but it missed her heart by less than an inch. She’s incredibly lucky.”
“Lucky,” Stefan repeats flatly. “That’s not what I’d call it.”
The doctor shifts her weight. “Her lung was punctured, but we’ve repaired the damage. She’s on a ventilator to help her breathe while she heals. The next forty-eight hours are critical, but if there are no complications, we’re cautiously optimistic.”
“When will she wake up?”
“We’re keeping her sedated for now to allow her body to focus on healing. Once we’re confident she’s stable, we’ll begin reducing the sedation. It could be a few days.”
Stefan nods once, his jaw tight.
The doctor glances at me. “Are you family?”
“She’s my fiancée,” Stefan says before I can answer.
The doctor nods. “I’ll give you some privacy. If you need anything, press the call button.”
She leaves, and the room falls quiet except for the machines.
I pull up another chair and sit beside Stefan. His thumb strokes Elena’s hand, over and over, like he’s trying to anchor himself.
“She’s a fighter,” I say softly. “The doctor said so herself.”
“She shouldn’t have to fight. She should be safe at home, making tea and yelling at me for working too much.”
“I know.”
“This is my fault.”
“Stefan—”
