<em><strong>Book 2 Fragile </strong></em><em><strong>Ice</strong></em>
Beeping monitors pulled Emma from darkness. Her mouth felt desert–dry, her thoughts cloudy and disconnected. Hospital. She was in a hospital. Why?
Memory returned in painful fragments–the charity dinner, the pregnancy.tests, searing pain, Alek’s terrified
face.
Her hand flew to her stomach, finding only bandages and soreness. <fna816> ???s ??????? ?s ?????? ?? find?novel</fna816>
“Emma.” Alek’s voice, rough with exhaustion. He appeared at her bedside, unshaven and rumpled in yesterday’s dress shirt, bow tie long gone. His eyes were red–rimmed, his expression a mixture of relief and something else she couldn’t immediately identify.
“The baby,” she whispered, already knowing the answer from his face.
Alek took her hand, his touch gentle as if she might shatter. “It was ectopic–in your fallopian tube. It ruptured, causing internal bleeding.” He swallowed hard. “They couldn’t save the pregnancy.”
Emma closed her eyes, tears sliding silently down her temples into her hair.
“You nearly died,” Alek continued, his voice breaking. “If we hadn’t been at the hospital already…”
“How bad?” she managed.
Alek’s grip tightened fractionally. “The surgeon needed to remove the damaged fallopian tube to stop the bleeding. They saved the ovary, but…” He couldn’t finish.
Half her reproductive system, gone. Her already “challenging fertility outlook” now even more dire.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, only that the words spilled out. “I was so excited to tell you. I had it all nned.”
“Don’t apologize.” Alek pressed his forehead against their joined hands. “I’m just grateful you’re alive.”
Dr. Reyes entered, clipboard in hand. “Mrs. Mitchell–Volkov, d to see you awake.” She checked monitors, made notes. “You gave us quite a scare. Another hour without intervention, and we might have lost you.”
“When can I go home?” Emma asked.
“Let’s get through today first,” the doctor replied kindly. “You had major surgery and significant blood loss. We
need to monitor you for at least 48 hours.”
After exining recovery expectations and future fertility considerations, Dr. Reyes left them alone. The
silence felt heavy, oppressive.
“Your grandfather called,” Alek said finally. “I told him you had an appendix removal. I thought… about the
baby…”
“Thank you,” Emma whispered. She wasn’t ready to share their loss, not even with Franklin.
Alek pulled a small shopping bag from beneath his chair. “I bought this yesterday, before… I was going to surprise you when we got home.”
From the bag, he withdrew a tiny Boston des jersey, no bigger than his hand. Custom–printed on the back: MITCHELL–VOLKOV, with the number 1.
The sight of it–what should have been, what would never be–broke something inside Emma. She turned her face away, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I shouldn’t have shown you,” Alek said, quickly returning the jersey to the bag. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“No.” Emma reached for his hand again. “I’m d you did. It makes it real. Makes it something we lost together, not just inside me.”
Alek perched carefully on the edge of her bed, gathering her against his chest. For <i>long </i>minutes, they simply held each other, grieving what had briefly existed, acknowledging what was <i>now </i>gone.
Three dayster, Emma stepped carefully from Alek’s SUV into the spring sunshine. Home had never looked so inviting–or so daunting.
“Careful,” Alek murmured, hand at her elbow. “No rushing.”
“I’m fine,” Emma insisted, even as pain twinged with each step. “Just tired.”
Inside, evidence of Alek’s preparations surrounded her–fresh flowers on every surface, pillows arranged on the sofa, a stack of novels on the coffee table. He’d thought of everything.
“I set up the guest room downstairs,” he exined, guiding her toward it. “Doctor said no stairs for a week.”
Emma stiffened. “I’d rather be in our bedroom.”
“Emma, be reasonable. The stairs-<b>” </b>
“<b>I </b>can manage stairs once a day,” she interrupted. “Please, Alek. I need normalcy, not an invalid setup.” Reluctantly, he helped her upstairs to their master suite, where more flowers waited. Their bed had been made with fresh linens, her favorite pajamasid out.
“Thank you,” she said, easing onto the edge of the mattress. “I know you’re just trying to help.”
Alek nodded, though tension lingered in his shoulders. “Are you hungry? I made soup.”
“Maybeter.” Emmay back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted from the short journey from car to bedroom. “Could I just rest first?”
“Of course.” Alek adjusted her pillows, pulled theforter over her legs, ced her phone within reach. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Emma closed her eyes, already drifting. She didn’t see the way Alek lingered in the doorway, watching her with a mixture of love and helplessness.
–
The first week home established their pattern. Alek, consumed with protective worry, arranged his wor schedule to be home as much as possible. He monitored her medication, prepared her meals, helped with re tentative walks around the room, then the hall, then downstairs.
Emma, desperate to process her grief but unsure how, withdrew into herself. She went through the <i>motions- </i>eating what Alek prepared, following doctor’s orders, responding to his questions–but emotionally, she felt encased in ice, numb and separate.
On the eighth day, Franklin called.
“Emmy,” his familiar voice warmed the line. “How’s the recoverying along?”
“Better every day, Grandpa,” she said, trying to inject energy she didn’t feel. “How are you?”
+8 Points>
“Worried about you. Appendicitises on suddenly, but Alek said you were at that charity dinner when it happened? Must have been dramatic,”
Emma hesitated, the lie about her appendix suddenly heavy between the “<b>It </b>all happened very fast.”
“Well, I’ming to see you tomorrow. Walter’s bringing me at eleven.”
“Grandpa, you don’t need to-”
“Nonsense. I haven’t seen my granddaughter in two weeks. A man’s entitled to check on his family.”
After hanging up, Emma stared at her phone screen. She wasn’t ready for visitors, wasn’t ready to maintain the appendix fiction in person, wasn’t ready for her grandfather’s shrewd assessment of her emotional state.
“Everything okay?” Alek asked from the doorway, clearly having overheard her side of the conversation.
“Grandpa’s visiting tomorrow.”
Alek nodded. “Good. He’s been concerned.”
“I can’t do this,” Emma whispered. “I can’t pretend everything’s fine when I feel so… empty.”
Alek crossed the room to sit beside her <i>on </i>the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Then don’t pretend. Tell him the truth.”
“I can’t add stress to his heart condition.”
“Franklin’s stronger than <i>you </i>give him credit for. And he loves <i>you</i>, Emma. Let him support you.”
“The way you’ve been trying to?” Emma asked softly.
Alek’s face tightened. “Have I been that overbearing?”
“Not overbearing. Just…” Emma searched for the right words. “I feel like you’re watching for me to break, and I don’t know how to show you I’m hurting without confirming <i>your </i>fears.”
“I almost lost you,” Alek said simply. “I’ve never been so terrified.”
Emma reached for his hand. “I know. But I can’t heal if I’m worried about your worry.”
“What do you need from me?” he asked, voice rough.
“Space,” she admitted. “Not distance, just… room to feel whatever I’m feeling without managing your feelings about my feelings.”
Alek nodded slowly. “I can try.”
The buzzing of Alek’s phone interrupted the moment. He nced at the screen, then stood. “It’s Wa
Something about your grandfather.”
Emma stiffened. “Put it on speaker.”
Walter’s voice filled the room, unusually agitated. “Mr. Volkov, Mr. Mitchell has copsed. The paramedics are here now. It appears to be cardiac–rted.”
“Where are you taking him?” Alek demanded.
“Mass General. The same hospital where Emma was treated.”
Emma was already struggling to her feet, wincing as stitches pulled. “We’re <i>on </i><i>our </i>way.” Alek ended the call and turned to her, conflict clear on his face. “Emma, <i>you </i>can’t-” “Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” she interrupted. “That’s my grandfather.”
“You’re barely a week post–surgery.”
“And he’s all the family I have left.” Emma reached for the closet, pulling out the first <i>clothes </i><i>she </i><i>found</i>. “I’m going, Alek. With or without you.”
They stared at each other across the bedroom, the distance between them suddenly greater than physical space–a chasm of grief, fear, andpeting needs that neither knew how to bridge<i>. </i>