Page 34 of His Stolen Bride

I meet her gaze but don’t explain it. All I do is hold her there with my eyes, long enough for her to see that this is very important to me.

“What is it?” she finally asks.

She exhales quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It takes the rest of the day.

Dinner passes untouched. I push food around my plate and pretend I’m not counting hours. When night comes, I lie awake listening to the house settle, every sound sharper than it used to be.

Lira knocks softly, three times at the door, just after eight. She slips inside and closes the door behind her, turning the lock quietly. “I brought fresh towels for your bathroom, since you’re out of them.”

She takes the towels inside, comes out, and smooths the front of her apron. “Lira,” I say, striving to keep my voice even. “Could you choose an outfit for me to wear to lunch with Mikhail’s mom tomorrow?” I don’t need her to do that. I just need her to be in the room with me, and the excuse makes things simpler for all the cameras I’m sure are pointed on me. She nods, and I stumble over to the bathroom and find a small pregnancy test kit hidden in the folds of the second towel.

She waits outside while I sit on the edge of the tub with the instructions spread in my lap. My hands don’t shake. That surprises me. I follow each step exactly as written. I set the test on the counter and stare at the wall, counting breaths.

When I look back, there’s no ambiguity.

Positive.

The word doesn’t land all at once. It moves through me in stages. First disbelief. Then a cold, hollow feeling that spreads from my chest outward. Then fear, sharp and focused enough to make my ears ring.

I’m pregnant.

I sink down onto the closed toilet lid and press my palm flat against my stomach as if pressure could undo what I’m seeing. My mind starts moving fast—dates, timing, that night, the way my body reacted afterward. The nausea. The dizziness.

There’s no room left for denial.

Lira opens the door a crack and peers in. She sees my face and stops breathing for a second.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

I nod once.

She steps inside and closes the door again, then crouches in front of me. “Are you sure?”

I hold up the test.

Her mouth presses into a thin line. “All right,” she says after a moment. “We think.”

“We don’t,” I correct. “I know.”

She doesn’t argue. She takes the test and wraps it into a paper bag, then tucks it into the pocket of her apron. “No one else,” I say.

She nods immediately. “No one.”

When she leaves, I stay there for a long time. Long enough that the cold tile seeps through the fabric of my clothes.

A child binds me to Mikhail in a way escape never could.

Marriage can be undone. Contracts can be broken. People can disappear.

This can’t.

I don’t tell him.

I don’t tell anyone.

Fear sharpens everything.