Pete stands outside, worry etched across his face.
I force a smile and roll the window down. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” His gaze scans my face like he’s memorising every crack.
“I’m fine,” I lie softly. “Just feeling sorry for myself.”
He glances at his watch. “Isn’t your scan soon?”
I nod. “Yeah. Martha’s sick . . . she can’t come.”
He grins, completely undeterred by my frayed state. “You only had to ask.”
Before I can protest, he rounds the car and climbs in, fastening his seatbelt.
“Pete, really, you don’t have to—”
“I’ve always wanted to see one of these things,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A smile escapes, and suddenly, the tightness in my chest eases a little.
The waiting room smells like disinfectant and over-brewed coffee. Chairs line the walls in tidy rows, and posters about breastfeeding and morning sickness stare back at me. A couple sit opposite, fingers laced tightly, whispering excitedly to each other.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Pete sits beside me, tapping his foot like a man trying not to look nervous himself. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I lie then shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He smiles in that soft, steady way he has. “You’re allowed to be nervous. It’s a big day.”
It is. Bigger than I ever expected it to feel.
A midwife steps into the room and calls my name. My stomach swoops. Pete stands instantly, offering his hand. I hesitate, just for a heartbeat, before taking it.
The sonographer is kind, warm-eyed, and bustling in a reassuring medical way. She hands me a towel for my lap and gestures to the reclined chair.
“Hop up when you’re ready, dear.”
Pete awkwardly hovers near the chair, hands shoved in his pockets.
“You can sit,” the woman says, pointing to the seat beside me. “She might want someone to hold her hand.”
My cheeks heat, and Pete coughs. “Right. Yes, ‘course.”
I settle back, lift my top, and the cold gel hits my skin with a sharp gasp.
“Sorry, love,” the sonographer chuckles, “always a shock the first time.”
Pete’s gaze flicks to my stomach. He’s wide-eyed with excitement.
“Alright,” she says, positioning the probe. “Let’s meet your little one.”
The screen beside me flickers to life.
And then, there it is, curled but unmistakably human. A hand drifts upward, giving me a flutter of movement, and my breath catches. “Oh,” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. “Oh my god.”
The sonographer smiles softly. “There’s your baby, growing beautifully.”
