I turn off my phone before she can respond.
Dr. Chen's office is mercifully air-conditioned and nearly empty. I check in, fill out paperwork, and sit in the waiting room surrounded by happy couples discussing baby names and nursery colors.
I'm alone.
Again.
"Emma Sinclair?"
I follow the nurse back, get weighed (up twelve pounds, which feels both too much and not enough), pee in a cup, and settle onto the exam table.
Dr. Chen appears with her tablet and kind smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Any concerns? Questions?"
"No."
She studies me for a moment. "Emma, I have to ask—is everything okay? You seem... subdued."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"And the baby's father? Will he be arriving?”
The question makes my throat tight. “I—not this time. He’s…busy.”
Which is not a lie. Donovan Titan is busy. We both are. Busy avoiding each other at work and pretending the other doesn't exist.
"Well, if you need resources—support groups, counseling, anything—just let me know." Dr. Chen squirts gel on my stomach. "Let's take a look at this baby."
The ultrasound wand presses against my skin, and there it is—bigger now, more defined.
Not just a blob but an actual baby shape. A tiny head. Body. Arms. Legs.
My baby.
Our baby.
"Everything looks perfect," Dr. Chen says. "Heart rate is great. Growth is on track. Do you want to know the sex?"
"I—" I stop. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course. We can find out at your next appointment if you'd like."
After she leaves, I sit on the exam table for a long time, staring at the ultrasound photos in my hand.
I should be happy. The baby's healthy. I have a good job—for now. I have friends and family who love me.
But all I feel is empty inside.
Because the person who should be here, who should be looking at these ultrasound photos with me, who should be asking about the sex and arguing over names—is not.
Andit's my fault.
I'm the one who pushed him away. Who said I regretted telling him about the baby. Who made it clear I didn't want him.
And now I have exactly what I asked for.
