Page 90 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
The surgery is successful.
At least that’s what I piece together later.
Time after that becomes strange and fractured. I drift in and out of sleep as the anesthesia slowly leaves my system. Every time I open my eyes, the room looks slightly different—new faces, new voices, new shadows moving across the walls.
Word spreads quickly, and my family begins to arrive.
My brothers come first, their heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. They try to keep their voices low, but I still hear the anger beneath their calm questions as they speak to Timofey and the doctor.
Then their wives follow.
Soft voices.
Concerned whispers.
The room fills with warmth and life in a way it rarely does.
At some point, the kids come too.
Small hands appear beside the bed, clutching balloons that bob gently near the ceiling. Someone places folded letters and messy drawings on the nightstand beside me. I manage a faint smile.
The room empties and fills again in cycles.
But through all of it—
Ellie never leaves.
She sits beside the bed, her hand wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing keeping the world steady.
Even when I sleep, I feel her there.
Even when I wake, she hasn’t moved.
At one point, Raelyn steps into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor before she stops beside Ellie.
“Ellie,” she says gently. “Go shower. Change your clothes. You’re covered in blood.”
Ellie doesn’t even look up. “I’m fine.”
Raelyn sighs. “You’ve been here for hours.”
“I know.”
“You should rest.”
Ellie finally lifts her head.
Her eyes are red and glassy with tears she clearly refuses to let fall.
But her grip on my hand never loosens.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says quietly.
Raelyn studies her for a moment, then glances at me lying in the bed.
Something soft flickers across her face.
Finally, she shakes her head with a small smile.
