12
MOLLY
Iwake up with my cheek pressed against Samuil’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing nudging me back into the world. It takes me a second to remember where I am, but once I do, the warmth in my stomach settles deep and sure.
Samuil knows about the baby now and he seems genuinely happy about it, which is a relief.
My stomach does a little somersault as I remember his expression. I place my hand low on my belly without thinking. I know it’s too early to feel anything, but I imagine my baby there, sleeping soundly and feeling safe. He or she is already so loved, in a way that I never was. I take a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. I’ll never let my child go one day without knowing how much I love them.
For a moment, I don’t move, letting myself feel the weight of Samuil’s hand resting on my hip. It’s strange how easy this already feels. It’s like I pressed a button and all of a sudden, we were a cozy couple.
It’s actually a little alarming. I don’t know what to do with a relationship like this. I’ve never experienced this kind of affection before, and I’m sure I’m going to ruin it.
I try to sit up slowly so I don’t wake him, but his arm tightens around me.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice low and sleep-rough.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure,” he answers hoarsely. “It must be close to noon. We might as well stay in bed for the rest of the day.”
He shoots me a seductive grin, and I can’t help but giggle. It’s a tempting offer, but I can’t. My nerves are buzzing too much. I’m supposed to see my OB-GYN this afternoon. It’s my first ultrasound, and I’m dying to see my baby and hear its heartbeat for the first time.
“I should probably get up, actually,” I say quietly.
He finally opens his eyes, studying me carefully. I think he’s looking for any signs of regret or fear. The last couple of days have been a lot for both of us.
“You don’t have to rush,” he says.
“I do, actually.” I sigh. “I have an ultrasound at three.”
He nods once, brushes a strand of hair from my face, and lets me go.
I make my way to the bathroom, trying not to overthink the strange mixture of comfort and tension swirling inside me. After a long shower and several attempts to calm my nerves, I join him in the kitchen, where he’s already dressed and drinking coffee. He watches me over the rim of his mug, like he’s making sure I’m really okay.
“Can I come?” he asks carefully.
“Of course,” I say, feeling the warmth spread through me. We eat a quiet lunch and then he calls for his car.
The drive to the clinic is quiet. He holds my hand, brushing his thumb slowly back and forth over my skin like a mantra. I look out the window, trying to keep my breathing slow.
“Are you nervous?” Samuil asks softly.
“I’m not sure.” I swallow. “Maybe a little bit? This appointment will make everything real.”
He nods once. “I can’t wait to see our baby,” he says, awe in his voice.
The certainty in his voice surprises me. It’s steady and grounded and sure, and it settles something wobbly inside me.
At the clinic, he stays close to me. He holds my hand while I check in, sits beside me in the waiting room, and asks me lots of questions about myself while I fill out forms. When the nurse calls my name, he rises with me immediately, one hand resting gently on my lower back as if guiding me.
Once we’re in the exam room, the nurse steps out to give me a moment to change. Samuil steps back and faces the window to give me privacy. It should feel awkward, but it’s strangely sweet and respectful.
When the doctor comes in, she greets me warmly, then looks at Samuil. “Are you the father?”
“I am,” he confirms, beaming with pride.
I sit on the exam table, paper rustling under me. Samuil steps closer so he’s right beside me. He doesn’t take my hand yet, but he’s there to support me in every way I’ll let him.
