Doctor.The word hangs in the air, foreign and wrong. The fear that floods me now is entirely different. Colder. Sharper. Dread where before there was only fire.
"A doctor?" I hear the sound of my own voice, stripped of anger and now raw with sudden terror. "Why? What's wrong? Are you sick—"
"I'm fine." She reaches for my hand, her fingers wrapping around mine, and even now the contact spreads warmth up my arm. "Nick, I'm fine."
She takes my scarred right hand in her light grasp and guides my palm to her stomach. Low. Below her navel. Her hand presses mine flat against the soft cotton of her blouse, against the warmth of her body beneath.
"I'm pregnant."
The word detonates in my chest.
Pregnant.
I stare at her, my hand pressed to her belly, feeling the slight give of her flesh beneath my palm, the heat of her skin through thin fabric. My brain refuses to process what she's just said. The idea of Avery—my Avery, the woman who's about to become my wife—carrying my child hits me so hard I can't find breath to respond.
She searches my face, and I watch uncertainty creep into her expression. After last night. After the chasm I carved between us with my own hands.
"It's still early," she continues, her voice steady but her eyes unsure. "Dr. Wilson says I'm about five weeks along." She pauses, and when I still can't find words, she fills the silence. "I woke up sick this morning. It wasn't the first time I've felt nauseated lately, but today was different. More intense."
I'm hearing every word, processing everything she's saying, yet I can't seem to make my throat work.
She wets her lips, her gaze still searching mine. "I had a home test—one Tasha gave me as a joke in my engagement gift basket. We’ve been careful, so I didn’t think I’d need to use it, but this morning..." She shakes her head slightly. "Two pink lines. Positive. I wanted to be sure before I told you, so I called Dr. Wilson and she made time to see me."
A watery smile crosses her face, emotion threatening to overwhelm her too.
"I know we never really talked about timing, or even whether—" Her voice wavers for the first time. Cracks at the edges. "Nick, please. Say something."
She's scared. She needs me to speak, and I'm standing here mute while she waits for a single word in response.
"Pregnant." Not an eloquent response, but it's all I've got. I've gone from imagining the worst to hearing the most incredible thing she could have ever told me.
I reach for her and pull her into me, my arms wrapping around her so tightly I worry I'm crushing her. She makes a startled sound—half-laugh, half-sob—and I release her only to cup her face in my hands and kiss her. Her mouth is soft and warm and tastes faintly of tears, and somewhere between kisses I hear myself talking, words spilling out in a rush I can't control.
"A baby.Christ, Avery. We’re having a baby?"
"Yes." She's laughing now, or crying, or both. "I was terrified when I found out this morning. And excited. I didn't know how you'd react, especially after last night, and I needed to be sure before—"
"You should have called me." I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her eye where tears have gathered. "The second you suspected, you should have called me. I would have been there. I would have held your hand while we waited for those two pink lines together."
"I know." Her fingers curl into my shirt. "I know. But I was scared, and I wasn’t sure we were okay, and I didn't want to tell you over the phone—"
"We're okay." I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "We're more than okay. God, Avery. A baby."
"You really want this?" The question is small, vulnerable. "You're happy?"
"Happy doesn't come close." I pull back enough to hold her gaze, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. "I can't think of anything I could ever want more than watching you grow round with my child. All I want is you. This. Us. The family we're building."
My hand returns to her belly, reverent now as I try to comprehend the impossible. That there's a tiny life beneath my palm. A heartbeat I can't hear yet but I know exists because of what we've made together.
She covers my hand with hers, holding me there, and for a moment we just breathe.
Then her smile falters.
"After last night, the way we left things... I woke up this morning and you were gone, and I didn't know—" She trails off, but I hear what she doesn't say. All the uncertainty and fears that I planted in her.
The reminder hits me like a blow.
"I'm sorry." My voice is raw and rough. "God, Avery, I'm so sorry. Last night, when you looked at me the way you did." I force myself to finish. "When you stepped back from me like I was something to fear, it gutted me. I saw my father in that moment. Everything I swore I would never become."
