The nurse looks at my vitals on the monitors. At the tears streaming down both our faces. Her expression softens.
"I'll give you a few minutes. Then the doctor needs to examine you."
When she leaves, I turn to Valerie. "I love you. In case I didn't say it enough before."
"You said it." She touches my face gently. "Right before you threw yourself in front of that bullet. You said it, and then you almost died proving it."
"Had to protect you. Protect the baby. Couldn't let Patrick win."
"He didn't. We won. We're all here. All alive." She kisses me carefully. "And you're going to heal. Going to hold our baby. Going to be the father you were meant to be."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Recovery is brutal.
Two weeks in the ICU before they move me to a regular room. Another three weeks there before discharge. Then months of physical therapy to regain strength, mobility, and function.
The scarring is extensive. Shoulder. Ribs. Chest. Reminders of how close I came to dying.
But I'm alive.
By the time Valerie is six months pregnant, I'm mobile again. Walking without assistance. Handling light business from home while Mikhail manages day-to-day operations.
The estate has been repaired. Carpets changed. Blood cleaned. Bullet holes patched. It looks normal again, except for the increased security, the new panic-room protocols, and the armed guards who will never fully relax.
One evening, Valerie finds me in my study. She's showing now, belly round and obvious under loose dresses. Moving with that careful waddle pregnant women develop.
"I want to get married." She says it without preamble. "Before the baby comes. I want us to be married."
"Okay." The answer is immediate. "When?"
"Next week. Something small. Just family."
We plan it quickly. Simple ceremony at the estate. Mikhail officiating. Tash as Valerie's witness, and Yaroslav as mine. Mila, Valerie's family, and Elena attending.
No guests beyond that. No elaborate display of wealth or power. Just us making promises we intend to keep.
The day arrives sunny and warm. We gather in the library where I first started falling for her without realizing it.
Valerie wears a simple white dress that accommodates her pregnant belly. Flowers in her hair that Mila helped arrange. She's beautiful. Glowing.
I wear a suit as I often do, but today I feel grateful that the three-piece hides most of the scarring. I stand beside her and exchange vows we wrote ourselves.
Mikhail pronounces us married. I kiss my wife carefully, mindful of the baby between us.
Mila cheers. Tash cries. Even stoic Mikhail looks emotional.
We're a family. Official. Legal. Real.
At nine months, labor begins at 3 AM.
I'm ready this time. Calm. Present. Unafraid.
Dr. Hale arrives within twenty minutes and sets up in the bedroom we've prepared. No hospital because Valerie chose a home birth.
She labors for fourteen hours. I stay beside her the entire time. Hold her hand. Let her squeeze until bones grind. Breathe with her through contractions.