"Looking good," She murmurs, more to herself than to me. She's taking measurements, clicking buttons, making notes. "Growth is right on track. Heartbeat is strong."
I watch my baby move on the screen. A tiny fist uncurls. A foot kicks against nothing.
"Would you like to know the sex?"
The question catches me off guard, even though I knew it was coming. I've been avoiding it, putting it off, telling myself I didn't need to know yet.
"Yes," I hear myself say. "Please."
She adjusts the wand, peers at the screen. "You're having a girl."
A girl.
I'm having a daughter. Emotion cascades through my body like a flood.
"Are you alright?" Dr. Okonkwo's voice is gentle. "Do you need a moment?"
"I'm fine." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "Sorry. Hormones."
"Nothing to apologise for. This is emotional for everyone."
She prints out a series of images and hands them to me. My daughter, frozen in black and white, her profile clear against the grey static of the ultrasound. She looks like a person now. A real, actual person who will exist in the world in three months' time.
I clutch the photos and try to breathe.
Afterwards, Akari takes me to lunch at a cafe near the clinic. It's the kind of place that serves avocado toast and oat milk lattes, filled with young professionals on their lunch breaks. No one looks twice at us.
"So?" Akari raises an eyebrow as I slide into the booth across from her. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. Perfect, actually." I set the photos on the table between us. "It's a girl."
Her face lights up. "Jamie! A girl!" She grabs the photos, studying them. "Oh my God, look at her little nose. She's beautiful."
"She looks like a blob."
"A beautiful blob." She looks up at me, eyes bright. "How do you feel?"
I consider the question. How do I feel? Terrified. Overwhelmed. Strangely, impossibly happy.
"Ask me again in three months."
The server comes and we order—a salad for me because the baby books say I should eat more greens, a burger for Akari because she says watching me eat salads is depressing. When the food arrives, I pick at my lettuce and try to organise my thoughts.
"I've been thinking about the housing scandal piece," I say.
Akari groans. "Jamie. We're having a nice lunch. Do we have to talk about work?"
"I want to publish it under a pseudonym."
That gets her attention. She sets down her burger and looks at me. "Okay. Why?"
"Because if I put my name on it, it becomes about me. About the Crane connection. About—" I gesture vaguely at my belly. "Everything."
"And if you use a pseudonym?"
"Then it's just the story. Clean. No baggage."
Akari is quiet for a moment, considering. "What does Laura think?"
