The wand glides over her stomach, and static shifts into form. For a few seconds, all I see is grainy white and black. Then?—
There.
A profile. The unmistakable outline of a little human.
I grip the edge of the chair, still not sitting. Can’t. My heart’s not in my chest anymore—it’s on that damn screen.
“There’s your baby,” the nurse says gently, clicking and taking measurements. “Measuring well. Moving around like a champ.”
Freya lets out a sound I’ve never heard from her before. Half laugh, half sob. I slide my hand into hers.
The sonographer takes what feels like an infinite amount of measurements, reassuring us along the way, and my pulse steadies slowly as she seems to approve of every test she makes.
“Alright, I have all the measurements I need now, and it’s all looking healthy on screen.” The sonographer grins. “Interested in knowing the gender?”
“Yes, please,” Freya says. “If you can see that, we want to know.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Get ready for trouble because you have a little girl on the way.”
Time stutters.
A girl.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the sternum and kissed by God at the same time.
A daughter.
I picture her little fingers curled around mine. A tiny body pressed to my chest. I picture Freya’s fire in a smaller form—her curiosity, her stubbornness, her beautiful curls… And it hits me like a freight train.
I stare at the screen in awe.She’s real.
And I get to be her dad.
Freya looks over at me. “You okay?”
I nod, then laugh because I can’t speak. I’m not okay. I’m something better. Something I didn’t think I could be again.
Alive. Hopeful. Lit up from the inside.
I have to be with Freya. I have to see my little girl every day. In an instant, I know I can’t be a part-time dad, and I don’t want to be part-time anything to this beautiful woman either. I want it all.
Ineedit.
Freya laughs again, but she’s really swallowing relief. “She’s going to own you. I feel it already.”
I laugh roughly, but I’m choked up. “There’s no shame in that.”
I press a hand to Freya’s belly and lean in to whisper. “Hey, baby girl. You want the moon? Just point me to the sky.”
I glance up, and the sonographer is staring at me warmly. Freya rolls her eyes, but they’re glassy.
“You are in trouble.”
“I like trouble,” I answer.
Yeah, I don’t mind this little girl wrapping me around her finger. That’s trouble I can handle and welcome a million times over.
But as I stare at Freya, the mother of my child, hell, the woman I love, I see the trouble is bigger than that.
