“I look forward to it.”
The doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Bedi, had been watching this exchange with poorly concealed amusement. She stepped closer. “Well then. If you could lift your shirt, please.”
Dede complied, exposing the rounded swell of her belly. My gaze caught on her breasts, noticeably fuller, and they made my mouth go dry. The changes pregnancy had brought did not dim my attraction to her.
I forced my attention back to the ultrasound as the doctor applied the gel. “Shall we see how the babies are doing?”
I moved to the head of the table as Dede settled back. The screen flickered to life, and there they were. Two distinct shapes, curled and suspended in darkness. My children.
The sound hit me next. Two heartbeats, overlapping but distinct. My heartbeat seemed to synchronize with theirs.
“Head measurements look good,” the doctor narrated, clicking and marking the image. “Spinal development is excellent.” She glanced at Dede with a smile. “Twenty fingers and twenty toes total, not each.”
Dede laughed. “Thank God. I’m not sure I could handle forty digits worth of nail trimming.”
The doctor grinned. “You’d be surprised what you can handle.”
I barely registered their exchange. My attention remained fixed on the screen, on the two small forms that represented everything I thought I’d never have again.
“My daughter, where is she?” My voice emerged rough.
The doctor gave me a curious look, then indicated a shape on the left side of the screen. “This one is the girl.”
I studied the image with mounting anxiety. “She’s smaller.”
“It’s common for one twin to be slightly larger,” Dr. Bedi assured me. “Both are growing appropriately for their gestational age.”
Her reassurance did nothing to quiet the alarm building in my chest. “Are you certain there are no complications? For either of them? For Dede?”
“Everything looks good. This is a textbook twin pregnancy.” Her tone gentled. “We’re monitoring closely.”
“What exactly are you monitoring? What measurements are considered normal? When do complications usually show up?” I leaned closer to the screen, as if I could see more details that way. “What should we watch for between appointments?”
“Aris,” Dede’s voice held a warning.
“I need to understand protocols,” I insisted, still watching the screen. “What is normal growth? When does the size difference become a problem?”
“Currently, Baby A—your son—is measuring in the fifty-eighth percentile. Baby B—your daughter—is in the forty-second percentile. Anything between the tenth and ninetieth percentiles is considered normal range. I would become concerned if one twin falls below the tenth percentile or if there’s a significant discordance—typically more than twenty-five percent difference in estimated weight.”
I performed the calculation immediately. “Sixteen percent difference. Well within normal range.”
“Exactly.”
“But you will continue monitoring, yes?”
“At every appointment,” she confirmed. “I promise you, sir, if there were any cause for concern, you’d be the second person to know.”
“Second?”
Dr. Bedi gestured to Dede. “Mom would be first.”
I nodded and stepped back, though I wanted to demand more tests and second opinions. The logical part of my mind knew I was projecting old fears onto the present, but the father in me, who had already buried a wife and child, didn’t care about logic.
Dr. Bedi printed several images from the ultrasound and handed them to Dede, then excused herself for her next patient.
Dede reached for the paper towels, but I was faster. “Allow me.”
“I can do it myself.”
