Milos

I looked at the beautiful baby in my arms. My daughter. I could hear Petra fighting for me in the next room. My wife. I would enjoy every second of this sweet reprieve. For as long as it lasted.

Petra

"Has Rafael gone?" He asked quietly as I entered the nursery. He was rocking back and forth in the gliding chair. The sight was startlingly incongruous with everything I knew about him.

"Yes." I replied. "But he'll be back tomorrow morning for his custody day."

Milos sucked a little air in through his teeth. "Does he take them often?"

I nodded, walking over to him. "Three and a half days a week. Exactly half custody."

Milos looked like he was fighting something inside himself. "In a row? I've only just met them."

"No, we alternate days. Every third custody day is a day and a half."

Gently I took the sleeping baby from his arms, and put her in her crib. I smiled a little at her sweet sleeping face. Then I went back to Milos and helped him back to his feet. His grimace was alarming. Thankfully the doctor would be arriving soon. Slowly we exited the nursery.

"How do you handle it? Them leaving?" His voice was a little gruff.

"Honestly?" I paused. "It's never bothered me. I deserve a break and Rafael is a great father. Early on we had the team of nannies, but I know he does fine without them."

Milos looked incredulous. "How do you not miss them?"

I scoffed. "Don't you dare look at me like that. I am so sick of being called a bad mother because I don't feel the need to be involved in every millisecond of my babies' lives. If I was the father, everyone would brush it off and say I 'wasn't a baby person, their husband was the same way and got more involved when their kids were children'. But because I'm the mother I get held to some nonsense 'higher standard'. It's ridiculous and insulting."

"I'm sorry." Milos said immediately, taking my hand in his. "You're right. That was unfair of me. I will have a difficult time with them leaving."

He seemed to be having trouble standing, so I gently took hours arm again and helped him hobble over to the couch. He immediately leaned back, laying himself down.

"Does it hurt badly?" I asked.

He nodded. "Distract me?"

A little part of me thought about childbirth. If I hadn't insisted he leave, he could have distracted me instead of Jane. He wouldn't be hurt now.

"You're very good with babies. I didn't know you'd ever been around any." I remarked.

He nodded weakly. "When I was in state care after my mother died I helped with the younger children. We all did. It must be some kind of muscle memory."

His eyes slowly closed as I ran my hands through his hair. His breath evened out. The doctor would be here in half an hour, but I was certain a nap was in his best interest.

I tried to check my work email, but I couldn't focus. His hair was soft under my hand, his forehead almost alarmingly warm. His eyes were sunken, the grey by his ears had become more pronounced. The skin seemed to be sagging off him.

Part of me still felt guilty. Whatever he had suffered, he had done it for me. My dark thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

"Milos." I said softly, rubbing his shoulder. "The doctor's here. It's time to wake up and sit up."

His eyes pried themselves open and he nodded while I got the door. Dr Lawson came very highly recommended, and was supposed to be very discreet. The doctor on the other side of the door hardly looked older than me. He must have noticed my raised eyebrow, because he immediately offered a firm handshake.

"Dr Lawson. Yes, I am old enough to be a veteran doctor. Where is the patient?"

"Right this way." I said, leading him over to the couch. "Milos, he's here. Why aren't you sitting up?"

His face was white, completely ashen. His eyes were squeezed closed as ground out his words. "I can't."

Dr Lawson immediately dropped to his knees and got by his head, checking his pulse and blood pressure and whatever else.

"Can you tell me anything about your injuries? I will not report them to anyone, your words stay in here."

Milos stayed quiet. I didn't feel the same need. "He left on a business trip six months ago and just got back yesterday. I think some of his ribs are broken, his fingers are a mess, and one of his arms. He was having a hard time standing."

The doctor nodded knowingly. "I've seen this before, here and in New York. Milos, right? Milos, I'm concerned about possible fractures and infections. I'm assuming you won't agree to a hospital visit?"

Milos shook his head. The doctor nodded politely.

"Then I'll give you a check over and we'll decide if it's necessary."

He started with Milos' head, checking every inch of him with care. Good face remained perfectly passive as he looked over broken fingers, a broken arm, broken ribs. The Doctor put what looked like gentle pressure on Milos' pelvis, but the howl of pain he got in return was almost frightening.

"You need surgery, Milos. Blood flow could be affected by cartilage or bone healing incorrectly. You could lose a finger or possibly even your entire arm. That's not even going into the possibility you could be permanently crippled if your pelvis doesn't heal properly."

"No." Milos growled back, every muscle in his body taut.

An idea suddenly struck me. "We have surgical suites here. Originally for plastic surgery. They're not in use, but they're still functional."

Dr Lawson looked relieved. He pulled some vials from his bag.

"Then I'll take some blood now, have the work expedited, and come back in the afternoon with a surgical assistant, possibly two. In the mean time, you should stay reclined as much as possible in order to mitigate irritating the injury. I'll send a team over to sterilize the room."

Milos' eyes remained closed as Dr Lawson took blood and gave him a shot of some pain medication.

"Thank you." I said to the doctor, leading him back to the door. "How has he gotten much worse so quickly?"

"You said he got back last night? Adrenaline. Adrenaline rush is a very real thing, and it doesn't just apply to sky diving for thrills and women lifting cars to save their children. Now that he's home and the danger has passed, he's going to crash. Pain, exhaustion, it's all going to catch up with him." He lowered his voice. "You may also want to find him someone to talk to about what he went through. The psychological ramifications are just as serious as the physical ones in cases like this. We'll talk more this afternoon."

I thanked him again as he departed, then immediately pulled out my phone and texted Isabel to come over as soon as she was able. As I moved back towards Milos a cry came from the baby monitor.

"Milos, I'm going to get the girls. I'll be right back."

He nodded, looking a little dazed. The pain medication must have already started to kick in. I picked the girls up from their cribs, one in each arm, and brought them to their seats near the dining room table. I grabbed some fruit pouches from the hutch near the table and slowly started to feed them.

They ate painfully slowly, consuming one microscopic bite at a time. Then it was time for their bottles. Simultaneously they decided they wanted to be cuddled and fed, requiring me to feed them an ounce at a time then to switch the child I was holding. My patience slowly dwindled to nothing, I keep looking at my phone to see if Isabel had responded. By the time we had finished their bottles, Isabel was thankfully knocking on the door.

"Sorry it took so long, Mrs D! I was taking a yoga seminar when you texted." She explained apologetically as she let herself in.

I looked over at Milos, still sleeping thankfully. "Thank you for coming. Milos-Mr Dvoracek-Will be going into surgery this afternoon. I'm going to need you until eight tomorrow morning, when Rafael picks the girls up."

She nodded enthusiastically. Who got that excited to work sixteen straight hours?

"No problem! We're going to have so much fun!" She nearly squealed.

Reflexively I checked on Milos again. Still sleeping. Finally she followed my gaze.

"Oh! He's asleep!" She whispered loudly. I forced a smile that I hoped came across as kind. "I'll take the girls to their room for bottles then out to the park."

"Excellent. Have fun." I kissed the girls on their heads and checked my watch. That feeding had lasted over two hours. There doctor would be back soon. I rang the front desk and told them that a small team needed access to the medical suites, and to have someone give them access when they arrived. They informed me that a team had arrived about an hour ago. Then I went and sat by Milos, laying my hand on his forehead. He was worryingly warm. Hot, even.

"When did you become 'Mrs D'?" His voice was thick and rasping.

"I thought you were sleeping. You should sleep." I chastised lightly.

He reached out to touch my arm, a feather light stroke. "I want to see you. Seeing you is better than sleep. Sleeping makes the hurt come sooner."

I held his hand in mine. "What? What does that mean?"

He nodded, clearly not all present. "They hurt me less when I didn't sleep. So I don't sleep."

I knew an opportunity when I saw one. It wasn't taking advantage if it would help him. "Milos, can you tell me what they did to you?"

He shook his head violently, refusing to say a word. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. His chest was heaving. I changed the subject.

"I changed my name. Officially, legally. To Petra Dvoracek."

His breathing slowed down. He blinked once, twice, three times. "When?"

I rubbed his arm. "Last month, when I found your email. I thought you had died."

His eyes were unfocused, looking somewhere behind me.

"Maybe I did." He mumbled.

I was about to ask him what he meant when there was another knock from the door, then the doctor let himself in.

"Sorry for the intrusion," He started politely. "But Milos has very alarming test results. His white blood count is extremely worrisome. We need to get him to surgery. Now."

"Now?" I asked, incredulous."But it's hardly been two hours!"

He gave me a reassuring smile. "Yes, Mrs Dvoracek. I know this is alarming, but I suspect the infection has spread to his bones. We need to go in and treat it immediately if I'm right."

I nodded, slightly frantic. "Okay. How do I help?"

"First, take a deep breath. We're going to get him in a wheelchair and bring him downstairs. Then you're going to keep him calm while we sedate him."

I looked at Milos. Breathe in, breathe out. I straightened my spine and lifted my shoulders.

"Okay."

The doctor left and returned with a wheelchair, phone to his ear. Someone was yelling on the other end of the line.

"Milos, can you help get yourself into this?" He pulled a face like a petulant child. I crossed my arms. "It's me or the doctor."

He frowned, but moved to sit up. I helped him, stopping when his face contorted with pain and moving again when he nodded nearly imperceptibly. I was almost thankful for his extreme weight loss as I helped lift him into the wheelchair. I could never have lifted him when he was healthy. Of course, I wouldn't have had to, then.

Dr Lawson continued his apparently emergent call as we left the suite and went down the corridor, headed towards the elevator that serviced former surgical suites.

"Where are we going?" Milos muttered, clearly dazed.

"You need surgery. We're not leaving the hotel. You'll be safe." I murmured back, before lightly patting his shoulder.

The Doctor finished his call as we stepped into the elevator. "Excuse me for that call. You have my full attention. Milos, you have several major bone fractures that require extensive repair. There's a second surgeon currently waiting to start, I'll relieve him after the first four hours or so. Infection is our main worry at this point, however. Petra, there will be some forms for you to sign while we get Milos in a surgical gown. Then you can stay with him while the anaesthesiologist administers the medication."

I nodded just as Milos objected. "She stays with me."

His good arm sought out my hand. I took it, and was surprised to find it was trembling. "Of course."

The doctor nodded and the doors opened. We were immediately surrounded by four or five people in scrubs. They ushered us into the first room and gave me Milos' hospital gown. Gently I started to remove his clothing.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He nodded stoically, but I could see how his eyes were darting around in fear. "It's okay, Milos. I'm here, and I'm not leaving."

He took a shuddering breath, then helped me transfer him to the gurney. Within moments the people in scrubs were back, attaching IV ports and tubes and lines and who knows what else. I held his good hand, and he watched my face like he was afraid it was going to vanish.

Someone injected him with something, a warm smile on his face. "Count back from ten, and you'll fall right asleep."

"No sleep." Milos growled, his face going white as he saw a drop of blood bead where the needle had gone into his arm.

"It's going to be okay." I murmured to him, stroking his face lightly. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Please. No." Milos begged quietly as his eyes fell closed and his breathing evened out.

I generally despised people who used pathetic, sentimental phrases like 'my heart hurts', but in that moment I could almost understand it. I squeezed his hand before letting it go, and the assistants wheeled him away into surgery.

Time stretched out indeterminate before me. The halls were totally vacant, the televisions on the walls didn't work, my phone didn't get service. There were no windows or visible sun to estimate time passing. So I sat there, forced to confront my own thoughts.

What had happened to Milos? Would he be okay? Was he dreaming during surgery, reliving his torture? What was going on with him and sleep?

Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?

The day he left we talked about going to Bali, celebrating our second wedding anniversary. We could still do that. There was a phone down the dusty hall, giving me an idea. I walked over to it and surreptitiously lifted it to my ear, gratified hear a dial tone. I called the concierge, asking him to bring me everything he could find on luxury vacations to Bali.

For hours I pored over the print outs and magazines, comparing resorts, excursions, amenities. I imagined making love in cabanas, feeding each other exotic fruit in a sandy beach. I could get him try yoga with me. Rafael had been talking about spending a few weeks in Europe, he could take the girls at the same time. We could spend two or three weeks there. Time to recover, time to relax.

Hours must have passed. People in scrubs passed in and out, not looking my way. My back and neck got stiff, but I kept planning. I would plan this second chance honeymoon, and everything would be okay. It had to.

The door opened in front of me, but I didn't look up until a soft, reassuring voice said my name.

"Petra."

My head shot up. "Dr Lawson. How is he?"

"He's doing well. The surgery was exemplary. But he has a long recovery ahead of him."

He was doing well. That was all I could hear. He was doing well.

"Thank you." I breathed. "Thank you for saving my husband."

It was the first time I had ever referred to him like that. My husband. It echoed in my ears. My husband. He was doing well.

"It's my pleasure. Petra, we need to talk about the healing process, but it can wait until his twenty four hour check up. He'll sleeping, but you can see him now."

I picked up the papers scattered in front of me and shook the doctor's outstretched hand briefly as I rushed towards Milos' room.

"Petra?" I turned back at the sound of his voice. "You have a long road ahead of you both."

I nodded. "I know."

Then I entered the recovery room.