Page 51 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

I stand and flush, then rinse out my mouth with mint mouthwash.

That’s when my eyes drift to the small calendar I put on the back of the door. It’s a habit I picked up years ago, tracking my cycle so I’d know when to expect the cramps and the mood swings. Dmitri used to make fun of me for it, telling me I was wasting my time.

The calendar shows a red circle four days ago, marking the day my period should have come.

I stare at it for a long moment, my brain refusing to process what I’m seeing. Then I count back, my fingers pressing against the dates.

I’m four days late.

My hand moves to my stomach without conscious thought. The motion is instinctive.

This can’t be.

Dmitri told me I couldn’t have children. After years of trying and nothing ever happening, he said the doctors had confirmed it. I believed him because why wouldn’t I? Every appointment ended the same way. Every test seemed to lead to the same answer. Month after month, hope slipped a little further away until, eventually, I stopped expecting anything different.

But now...

Could they have been wrong?

Four days, and I’ve always been frighteningly regular.

I count back again, this time tracking a different set of dates. The first night when he took me against the wall. It’s been barely three weeks since then.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. My legs are shaking and I have to grip the edge of the sink to keep myself upright.

It’s not possible.

Could Dmitri have lied?

I could be pregnant. Maybe?

My hand presses harder against my stomach. There’s nothing to feel yet, just the flat plane of my belly and the flutter of my own pulse. Somewhere inside me, if the timing is right, a cluster of cells is becoming something more than the sum of its parts.

I lower myself to the edge of the bathtub and stare at the tile floor. The grout is white and clean, scrubbed by Oksana’s careful hands, and I focus on it because focusing on anything else feels impossible.

Pregnant.

I think about all the times I wanted this. In the early days of my marriage, before I understood what Dmitri really was, I used to imagine what it would be like to have a child. A little piece of myself that I could love without reservation. It was a reason to keep going when everything else felt hopeless.

Then, month after month, when the tests came back negative and my period arrived like clockwork, I stopped hoping.

Dmitri told me it was my fault, and I believed him because I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

What if he was lying? What if he knew all along that I could have children and he just didn’t want me to?

The thought makes my stomach turn. It would be just like him, wouldn’t it?

I should tell Roman. The thought surfaces and then immediately submerges again. No. Not yet. Not until I know for sure.

If I’m wrong—if this is just stress or illness or wishful thinking—I don’t want to have this conversation for nothing. If I’m right... well, that’s a whole different problem.

I need a test.

I can’t ask Oksana to get one for me. She’d tell Roman, and then he’ll know, and everything will change before I’m ready for it.

I’ll have to go myself.

I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks scared and hopeful and terrified all at once.