Chapter 7: Surgical Stabilization of Rib Fractures
1435 Words
Mirella POV
The pain kept getting worse.
At first, I’d convinced myself it was just the adrenaline wearing off.
Then it became difficult to take a deep breath.
Every inhale felt like someone was driving a knife between my ribs.
Every exhale reminded me the knife hadn’t gone anywhere.
Hours had passed.
The emergency room had grown quieter around me, yet my own body had become louder.
I couldn’t laugh.
I couldn’t cough.
I couldn’t even breathe normally without tears filling my eyes.
Eventually, I gave up pretending to be strong.
I cried.
Not because I wanted to.
Because it simply hurt too damn much.
After what felt like forever, the door finally opened.
Kyle walked back inside.
He wasn’t alone.
Another man entered behind him, dressed in a suit he was carrying a leather briefcase.
He didn’t look much older than me.
Normally, I probably would’ve tried figuring out his age or wondered whether he was married.
At the moment…
I couldn’t have cared less.
My horny little imagination had officially died.
Hopefully for at least a couple of days until I fully recovered.
The two men entered my room before Kyle quietly closed the door behind them.
The man with the briefcase pulled a chair closer to my bed and sat down.
Kyle walked over to my other side.
The smile he’d worn earlier was gone.
He looked…
Upset.
Concerned.
Almost angry.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
I wanted to tell him I was fine.
I really did.
But lying to my doctor seemed incredibly stupid.
Especially when every breath betrayed me.
“I’d take a bullet through my pinky over this crap.”
My answer made both men chuckle.
Oddly enough…
Hearing them laugh made me feel a little better.
Mission accomplished.
If I was going to be miserable, someone else might as well smile.
Kyle shook his head with the smallest grin before his expression became serious again.
“I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you meant that.”
He glanced briefly at the chart before looking back at me.
“We’re going to start you on stronger pain medication shortly.”
His eyes met mine.
“But before we do, there are a few things we need to discuss.”
That didn’t sound reassuring.
“You have a fractured rib.”
I nodded carefully.
Yeah.
My body had made that painfully obvious.
“We’ll get you properly treated, but because of your injuries…”
He hesitated.
“…we also need to talk about your surgery, and Ethan.”
My heart immediately sank.
“He needs someone to care for him when you’re admitted for your surgery, while you’re admitted overnight or if your recovery limits what you can do over the next few days.”
He motioned toward the man sitting beside me.
“I asked an attorney to join us because there are some legal matters we need clarified before making any decisions involving your son.”
Those words hurt more than my broken rib.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Because I already knew what the answer was.
Shared custody.
During my divorce the jury had believed my ex-husband’s military career automatically made him a qualified parent.
Apparently wearing a uniform impressed people more than actually knowing your own child.
Reality was very different.
Konstantin barely knew how to care for Ethan unless someone handed him instructions.
He had his perfect little family now.
His second wife.
Their baby.
Their picture-perfect life.
The one he’d always wanted.
It just hadn’t included Ethan and me.
Holding my side as another wave of pain shot through my ribs, I forced myself to answer.
“I would’ve preferred my brother to have temporary custody.”
Even saying the words hurt.
“He lives in Cincinnati with his own family.”
I swallowed.
“He can’t afford to lose his job because of me.”
Another breath.
Another stab of pain.
“So during my divorce I agreed to shared custody with my ex-husband unwillingly.”
The words tasted like poison.
“His name is Konstantin Volkov.”
I looked down at my hands.
“He serves in the Navy as a commander.”
Silence settled over the room.
“I don’t want Ethan under his care.”
My voice cracked.
“But…”
I closed my eyes.
“…I don’t have anyone else.”
“My mother’s in Washington, D.C.”
“My brother has his own family in Cincinnati.”
“And Ethan deserves stability more than another courtroom.”
By the time I finished speaking, the room had gone strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
When I finally looked up…
Kyle’s jaw was clenched so tightly I thought he might crack a tooth.
The warmth that usually lived in his eyes had disappeared.
Something darker had taken its place.
Something protective.
Something angry.
I didn’t understand it.
Ethan wasn’t his son.
My failed marriage wasn’t his burden.
I’d barely known him for a few hours.
So why did he look like someone had just personally hurt him?
The attorney quietly adjusted the papers in his briefcase, wisely choosing not to interrupt.
As for me…
I couldn’t stop wondering why my personal life seemed to matter so much to a man I’d only met because he’d handed me a blanket in the middle of summer.
Not knowing what else to do and hurting too much to think straight, I turned my attention toward the man in the expensive suit.
He had quietly taken several papers from his briefcase while Kyle stood beside my bed looking like he wanted to punch someone.
I honestly couldn’t figure out why.
Swallowing another wave of pain, I looked at the man as he spoke.
“Anything you can do?”
The man smiled politely.
Not arrogantly.
Professionally.
“Oh,” he said calmly, “I can do quite a bit with everything you’ve told me.”
He neatly organized the papers in front of him before extending one toward me.
“But first, I should introduce myself.”
He offered me a small nod.
“My name is Xavier Green.”
I returned the gesture as best I could from the hospital bed.
He tapped the first document.
“These forms would temporarily authorize your attending physician, Dr. Kyle Beaumont, to make decisions regarding the care of your son while you’re in surgery and recovering afterward.”
I frowned.
He continued before I could interrupt.
“It would also extend that authority to Dr. Beaumont’s immediate family if circumstances required additional assistance caring for Ethan without the intervention of your formal husband.”
My breathing immediately became uneven.
Every breath stretched my fractured rib.
Every stretch made the pain worse.
Every second made it harder to focus.
Xavier noticed but continued gently.
“This authority would only exist because you granted it.”
He slid the papers a little closer.
“If you choose not to sign, that’s entirely your decision.”
Choose?
The only choice I heard was…
Konstantin.
Or Kyle.
That wasn’t a choice.
That was survival.
Without thinking, I held my hand out.
“Give me the pen.”
Both men looked at me.
“I’m signing it.”
Another sharp pain ripped through my ribs.
“My son is staying as far away from the devil himself as legally possible.”
For the first time since we’d met, I heard Xavier laugh.
Not loudly.
Just enough to tell me he appreciated my honesty.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I’d tattoo it on my forehead if it kept Ethan away from my ex.”
Kyle lowered his head.
I couldn’t see his face anymore.
At the time…
I assumed he was trying not to laugh.
Xavier handed me the pen.
I wrapped my fingers around it and slowly signed my name.
Every movement hurt.
Even writing a single letter sent pain through my side.
By the time I reached the date, my vision had already begun blurring around the edges.
The final number came out crooked.
I blinked.
The room tilted.
Another breath.
Another stab of agony.
“…There.”
The pen slipped from my fingers.
I closed my eyes for what I thought would only be a second.
Instead…
Everything around me erupted.
“Mirella!”
“Kyle!”
“Get her oxygen!”
“Her pressure’s dropping!”
“Call the operating room now!”
Footsteps.
Machines.
Voices.
Someone grabbed my hand.
Someone else was shouting orders.
The last thing I remembered before everything faded into darkness…
Was hearing Kyle’s voice.
Not calm.
Not gentle.
Terrified.
- Writer
