“Probably yours if it isn’t,” Alec muttered under his breath.
The nurse didn’t look at them, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“I’ll also calculate an estimated delivery date based on the baby’s measurements,” she continued before turning her attention fully to the monitor.
“Are you okay?” I asked Ella quietly when she inhaled again, deeper this time.
It had been almost two weeks since she learned she hadn’t been receiving the pill. Enough time to process. To settle.
Or so I’d thought.
“I’m not feeling great,” she admitted.“My throat’s sore. It’s probably just a cold.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Alec asked immediately, frowning.
Nick pressed a broad palm to her forehead as if testing for fever. Ella swatted him away with an annoyed glare.
“Soup and bed,” Alec decided.
“I’ll stay with her,” I added smoothly, unable to suppress a small smile when both of them scowled at me.
When I glanced up, the nurse was watching us with open curiosity.
“I can see my patient will be very well cared for,” she said carefully.
Ella rolled her eyes.“More like I’ll be annoyed for the next few months.”
The nurse’s gaze lifted again, slow and evaluating, lingering on Nick’s tattooed hands before sweeping back to Alec, then to me. She didn’t say anything—but she was drawing conclusions.
“She is growing a baby,” she said finally, softer now.“That takes a lot out of a woman.”
My back stiffened. I sat straighter.
“We’ve been looking after her very carefully,” I replied. Even to my own ears, it sounded defensive.
“Hm.” She adjusted the gel bottle.“Let’s have a look at the baby.”
The silence felt deafening as she began to glide the wand over Ella’s belly.
The faint hum of the machine filled the room, accompanied by the soft squelch of gel and the rhythmic tapping of keys. No one spoke.
As we waited for our baby to appear on the screen, it struck me all at once—we were about to become parents.
Ella’s eyes were fixed on the monitor. Her nails dug into Alec’s hand, but she didn’t look away. Her eyes were bright.
Too bright.
Tears pooled along her lower lashes, threatening to spill.
A memory of my mother surfaced, sharp and unwelcome. I grimaced.
Thank God Ella wasn’t cold like her.
Even with childminders and an endless rotation of nannies, I had been an inconvenience. A disruption. Something to be managed rather than loved.
I glanced back at Ella, watching the way her hand instinctively drifted toward her stomach again.
Whatever this child would be to us, it would not grow up unwanted.
