Chapter 31
Willow
The hospital corridor lights ran warm—none of that harsh, blue fluorescent crap. A faint yellow halo softened the edges, washing over the pale gray walls and making the whole place feel a little less dead.
I sat on a plastic chair outside the ER, my back against the molded seat.
My wrist had already been cleaned up. A thin layer of gauze wrapped it, medical tape sealing the edges. Under the lights, it looked soft-white, almost gentle.
While she worked, the nurse had said, "Skin's broken, tendons are fine. No stitches. Just don't get it wet for a few days." Then she'd smeared on ointment and covered it with gauze, hands light like she was handling something that might crack.
Now I could feel the gauze where it met my skin—dry, a little tight.
Artyom sat beside me. He didn't scroll his phone. He didn't watch the people in the hall. He just sat there. One arm stretched along the chair back, his fingertips hanging near my shoulder. He didn't touch me, but he didn't pull away, either.
The ER wasn't quiet. Someone pushed a cart past now and then, the wheels dragging the sound out in the empty hallway.
His silence didn't feel like the kind you had to fill. It felt finished. Like a sealed container—air inside it still, undisturbed.
A doctor came out of the treatment room with a form in his hand.
He glanced at us, then looked at Artyom. "The wound's handled. Observe for two hours. If nothing changes, you can go. As for the pregnant one—rest when you get home. No strenuous activity for a while."
Artyom nodded once, took the paper, and said, "Okay."
"When were you planning on telling me?"
The words landed softly, like a coin set down on a table before it had cooled—no pressure, just there.
I stayed on that plastic chair, feeling the ring of tape and gauze slowly tighten, like it was learning the shape of me.
He didn't turn to look at me, but I knew he was waiting. That coin sat there, waiting to be picked up.
"How did you know?" My voice came out quieter than I meant.
"Lily told me." He paused. "When you got taken, she told me."
The knot in my throat was still there, but it softened—like ice that had been held too long in a warm hand.
"I was scared you wouldn't accept him."
"Idiot."
He went quiet for a beat. "From now on, no matter what you do, you talk to me first. We decide things together."
I froze, then turned to him.
The corridor's pale light hit his profile, cutting his jawline sharp.
I'd always thought his face looked too hard, like it had been carved out of stone—no warmth. But the way he looked at me then... it was nothing but helpless tenderness, the kind that hurt to see.
My nose stung, and months of swallowed humiliation surged up all at once.
I'd thought he'd blow up. Thought he'd call me a liar. Thought he'd snap at me like he had in that restaurant. Instead, he'd just called me an idiot.
"I didn't mean to lie to you." I sniffed, my fingers twisting the hem of my clothes without thinking.
"Last time—at that restaurant—when you said those awful things...
I thought you didn't want anything to do with me.
I was scared if I told you I was pregnant, you'd make me get rid of the baby.
Or you'd send me away. And I'd never get to see him again. "
He frowned and reached over, his fingertips brushing the wetness on my cheek. Gentle. "What awful things did I say?"
"That restaurant. You said I had no shame. That I could hook any guy I wanted." My voice shrank as I spoke, my head dropping. "I thought you said it on purpose. Like you were drawing a line, like you didn't want anyone to know about us."
He stayed silent for a few seconds, then let out a low chuckle.
I looked up and glared at him, but he just pulled me into his arms. It was a little too tight—my shoulder ached—but I didn't fight it. He smelled faintly of cedar, the exact same scent I'd caught that night in the bar's private room.
"I was jealous," he said into the top of my head, his voice muffled.
"I saw Ethan picking bones out of your fish.
I saw you smiling at him. I damn near lost my mind.
I got heated and ran my mouth. I regretted it for days.
I wanted to find you and apologize, and then you—" His grip tightened.
"You started packing like you were going to disappear. "
I went still in his arms, brain taking forever to catch up.
All that disgust I'd imagined, all that distance I'd tortured myself over... it had just been jealousy?
It was almost funny. It was almost devastating.
I punched his chest once, not hard, but sharp. "Are you stupid? If you're jealous, you can't just say that? You had to say that nasty shit? I almost didn't come back. I almost never came back."
"I was stupid." He tipped his head down and kissed the top of my hair, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "It isn't happening again. No matter what happens, I am not saying cruel things to you again. And I am not letting you carry it alone."
A nurse rolled a treatment cart past us. Heat rushed up my face and I tried to pull back, embarrassed.
Artyom held me tighter. "What? I am holding my own woman."
The nurse's footsteps faded. The hall settled again, broken only by the distant, occasional beep of machines.
My cheeks burned. I buried my face in him and refused to look up.
But the stone in my chest finally dropped away. All that sleepless doubt and fear had been nothing but a misunderstanding born out of love.
"Then... what about the baby?" I asked, voice muffled against him, small as a whisper. "You really don't care? I mean..."
"Mean what?" he cut in.
He loosened his arms just enough to get both hands on my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.
There was no teasing in them. No hesitation. Just a steady, overflowing seriousness—like he was holding something precious and he knew it.
"You mean because you don't have a 'proper' status? Because the timing sucks?"
He finished it for me, his tone flat with certainty. "Listen to me. I don't want a perfect moment. I don't want some polished, high-society version of you. I want you. And I want our kid."
He leaned in until his forehead pressed to mine, our breath mixing warm between us.
"From the second you decided to keep him, we were already a family."
His voice stayed low, solid, each word landing right in the center of me and cracking the last of my panic apart.
With our noses almost touching, I could feel his lashes tremble. Trust. No armor. No distance.
"As for status..." He let out a quiet laugh, the heat of it brushing my lips. "If I want, by tomorrow the whole city will know you are my rightful wife. This kid's only mother. Let people talk. Their rumors can't touch us."
It sounded too good. Good enough to make me want to break.
A family.
We were finally a family.
Tears spilled out before I could stop them, sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto the collar of his expensive shirt, blooming into a dark stain.
I didn't wipe them. I just clutched the fabric at his chest, hard enough my knuckles turned white, like that grip was the only thing keeping me from getting dragged under.
Artyom didn't speak. He just held me closer, his chin resting on my hair, his hand moving up and down my back again and again—slow, steady, like he was soothing a startled animal.
His heartbeat stayed calm and strong through the thin layer of cloth, and little by little mine matched it.
Outside, the night still looked heavy. In here, wrapped in him, it felt warm enough to sink into and never climb out.
All the anxiety that had kept me awake, all the fear of what came next, all the shame about where I stood—next to that one word, family, it all shrank down to nothing.
I lifted my head, eyes blurred with tears, my voice still catching. "Then you... you aren't allowed to take it back."
Artyom bent down and kissed my tears away. "I swear to God," he said, quiet and absolute. "I never regretted it."