"No."
The doctor nods, making notes on her tablet. "And you were exposed to smoke? Any trouble breathing?"
"A little. My throat burns, but I can breathe fine."
I watch the doctor examine Kira. Checking her vitals, listening to her lungs, touching her belly. Each touch makes me tense, waiting for something to be wrong.
"Everything seems normal," the doctor says finally. "But given the trauma and smoke exposure, I want to do an ultrasound."
"Okay." Kira's hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
A nurse wheels in the ultrasound machine—a bulky thing with a screen and various attachments. My stomach twists. This is real now. We're about to see our child.
Or find out we lost them.
"Lie back," the doctor instructs, pulling up Kira's shirt to expose her stomach. "This gel is going to be cold."
Kira flinches when the gel touches her skin. I squeeze her hand, wishing I could take away her fear. Wishing I could guarantee everything will be okay.
But I can't. I've learned the hard way that I can't protect the people I love from everything.
The doctor presses the transducer against Kira's abdomen, moving it slowly. The screen shows nothing but grainy static to my untrained eyes.
"There," the doctor says, angling the screen toward us. "See that?"
I lean forward, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.
"So the baby's okay?" I have to hear the words.
I watch the doctor. She’s gone silent. The wand still moving over her belly.
“Doctor?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
I don’t know how I’ll handle bad news. I thought I was prepared, but I’m not. I stand, holding onto Kira’s hand.
"Babies," the OB corrects gently.
The word doesn't register at first. I hear it, but it doesn't make sense.
"What?"
"Babies," she repeats, smiling now. "Plural. You're having twins."
I grab the edge of the exam table to keep from falling. I’m suddenly really fucking dizzy.
"Twins?" The word comes out strangled. "As in... two?"
"That's generally what twins means, yes." The OB's smile widens. "Would you like to see?"
She doesn't wait for an answer. Just turns the ultrasound screen toward us.
And there they are.
Two tiny blobs. But the blobs aren’t what I’m looking at. It’s the two heartbeats flickering on the monitor like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
My legs give out. I drop into the chair beside the exam table.
