“I only heard one of her songs…” But I’m liking what I hear.
He glances sideways at me. “I like the name Cat,” he says.
My heart glows thinking about our baby.Together.
“We’ve never talked baby names… Or if at the scan we’re finding out the gender?”
He taps the steering wheel with his index finger. To the beat: “Waiting for the baby is hard enough. Unknowns aren’t my strength. The more I can get my hands around, the better.”
“I’m glad you said that because I absolutely want to know. We might have to pretend we don’t know, though, and let Lara do a gender reveal party.”
He laughs roughly. “I’m good at going undercover.”
My smile comes from deep inside. “Good…” I say, but when I look out the window at the passing landscape, I realize there are more unknowns to clarify than just the gender.
This scan isn’t about knowing if our baby is pink or blue; it’s a screening tool.
“Anton…” I hesitate even though I know we have to talk about it before the scan.
“Mmm…”
I struggle for words. “What if our baby isn’t…you know…”
“A hundred percent healthy?” he finishes my thought, and I’m so glad he’s been thinking about it, too.
He continues. “I guess for me, this baby is a gift,” he puts it simply. “And I won’t waste it.”
His answer lands deep. And again, it’s the one I was hoping for.
I think about my own body—about all the ways I’ve been given a second chance at health. About Lara. About how the people I love don’t fit clean definitions of health, but I’ve never once wished them away.
“Yeah,” I say, grounded in the way his certainty anchors me. “I’m with you.”
But the pause he gives feels like there’s more coming.
“But…”
There it is…
“If you were at risk, though, honey…” He stares at the road, jaw tight. “We’d have to talk about this again.”
That he puts me first lands like a blade straight to the chest.
Sometimes, when my mind plays devil’s advocate, I tell myself Anton is steady and supportive, not because of me but because I’m carrying his child. A role. A responsibility.
This shatters that lie completely.
And the truth of it makes my throat go tight and my face warm in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with being seen. But I can’t unpack that right now, so I change the subject.
“Back to names. Cat is unfortunately out since we know one. But I’ve always liked old-fashioned names. Like Mabel.”
“Mabel?” He sounds unconvinced.
“Isn’t there a British singer called Mabel?”
The way his face contorts tells me he’s not sold.
“Guess Mabel is a no…”
