“Okay, here we are,” she says. “This is the sac.” She points to the screen. “And this is your baby.” She clicks a few buttons, and a loud whooshing hits the air. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”
Tears fill my eyes as I watch with rapt attention as she explains each part of my baby. No, not my baby …ourbaby. A precious baby that’s part me and part Matteo. I choke out a sob, wishing he were here, knowing he would’ve loved to see this.
“According to the measurements, you’re fifteen weeks, four days along,” the doctor says with a bit of surprise in her tone. “Putting your due date on February 15. And”—she grins—“you’re far enough along that I can see the gender, if you’d like to know. Or I can jot it down in your file. I know gender reveals are all the rage these days.”
She continues to go over what she’s seeing on the screen, but I zone her out, going back fifteen weeks in my head. That’s roughly four months … but that doesn’t make sense because Matteo and I haven’t even been together for four months.
“Something isn’t adding up,” I tell her, cutting her off. “I can’t be that far along.”
My heart starts to race, and my hands become clammy. Something is wrong.
“I’m not even showing.” I point to my belly.
Sure, I’m a plus-size woman, so my belly is soft, but I haven’t grown out of my clothes. I’m still wearing the same size I was wearing months ago. If anything, they’ve become looser from eating healthy and working out with Matteo.
“Can you please check again?” I insist. “Something isn’t right.”
Heat is coursing through my veins, and my heart is racing so fast that I’m worried it’s going to beat right out of my chest. I’m having a panic attack, but I try to tamp it down, focusing on the screen in front of me.
The doctor frowns, but she does as I asked and moves the probe along my belly, clicking and making notes.
Once she’s done, she says, “My measurements are correct, Daniella. You’re fifteen and a half weeks along. We can’t know for sure, but this would put your conception date at roughly May 14.”
May 14.
May 14.
Where was I on May 14?
And then, like a freight train coming at me head-on, it hits me.
Oh my God.
My head spins, and black spots dot my vision.
This can’t be happening.
He was supposed to be in the past.
He’s gone.
Matteo killed him.
I wasn’t even due to renew my shot yet.
When the doctor glances at me, I realize I said that part out loud.
“Medicine isn’t perfect,” she says simply.
“What about my stomach?” I point at it for emphasis. “Shouldn’t it be bigger? Rounder? This doesn’t make sense.” I’m aware that I’m on the verge of losing my shit—or maybe I already have—but I can’t stop it from happening. My hands are shaking, and hot tearsare pricking my lids. “I’m almost halfway through my pregnancy,” I choke out, “and I haven’t been sick once.”
The doctor nods. “It doesn’t happen often, but I’ve seen it a few times throughout my career. Some call it an invisible pregnancy. One patient didn’t show until she was almost thirty weeks. The good news is that your baby looks healthy, and in the next few weeks, you should start being able to feel them. First flutters and then full-on kicks. We’re sending out your blood work, and we’ll call you once it comes in, if there’s anything we need to discuss.”
I shake my head in shock.
This can’t be happening.
This is what we wanted—but not like this.
