The room is dim, warm, humming softly with machinery. Eden lies back on the bed with her hands folded over her bump, guarding something precious. I sit beside her.
The woman doing the scan smiles at us. “First time for a 3D?”
Eden nods. “First baby,” she replies.
She squeezes gel onto Eden’s stomach, and I flinch like I’m the one being touched. Eden doesn’t look at me. She’s staring at the screen, breaths shallow, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder.
I place my hand on the bed beside her, not touching but close. Close enough in case she wants it. Because fuck knows I need an anchor right now.
The screen flickers. At first, it’s nothing but shapes, shadows, blurred movement that doesn’t quite register.
And then . . .
“There,” the woman says gently. “That’s your baby’s face.”
My chest tightens.
I lean forward without even realising I’ve moved, my breath catching hard in my throat. There’s a nose. A mouth. Tiny lips that twitch like it’s dreaming.
Something cracks open inside me. Something I didn’t even know was sealed shut.
“That’s . . .” My voice barely works. “That’s real.”
Eden lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes glossy. “Yeah.”
The baby moves, and the sound that leaves my chest isn’t controlled. It’s not tough. It’s pure disbelief.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “It moved.”
Eden chuckles softly, breath hitching, and then her fingers brush mine.
Just a touch.
Then our little fingers hook together, tentative at first, like we’re both afraid to break the moment, then suddenly, I’m clutching her hand without even thinking about it. We don’t look at each other. We just stare at the screen.
The woman laughs softly. “A very active little one.”
I glance at Eden, at the strength in her. The quiet bravery it’s taken to get here without me. The way she’s carried all of this alone.
“Thank you for letting me be part of this moment,” I say. “I hate that I could’ve missed this.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t pull away.
The screen shifts again, clearer now. The woman points things out—hands, feet, the curve of a spine—but I barely hear her. She asks if we want to know the sex, to which Eden replies no. She’s adamant, and I’m not about to argue. It’s her choice.
I’m still wide-eyed, my vision blurred through tears I didn’t realise were there. “That’s my kid,” I almost whisper.
Eden nods, her own tears slipping free now. “Yeah.”
I swallow hard, emotion clogging my throat. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
When the screen goes dark and the room brightens again, I sit there stunned by the excitement mixed with the loss of everything I didn’t fight for.
We ride back towards town in silence. It’s heavy, weighted with everything we’ve just seen, everything we haven’t said. The road hums beneath us, steady, grounding, while my head spins.
I pull up outside her place and kill the engine.
She climbs off first, slipping the helmet free and shaking out her hair. I watch her longer than I should, committing the sight to memory like it might disappear if I blink.
