The nurse smiles softly. “Yes. It is a miracle. After trauma like that…we do not often see this outcome.”
My tears blur my vision as Gabriel presses his forehead gently to the back of my hand. “They’re fighters,” he whispers, and a sob escapes me before I can stop it.
It’s a strange mixture of joy and terror, because while I’m so happy to be given another chance to have babies, I’m terrified they’ll have the same outcome as Gabriella. I’m also heartbroken that she isn’t here to experience this with us. To be an amazing big sister.
“We want to monitor you closely,” the nurse adds. “There is still risk, especially with your medical history.”
I look at Gabriel and his eyes are red but hopeful. “We’re not going anywhere,” he says immediately.
Behind him, Zale begins to stir. “What’s happening?” he mumbles sleepily. “Do you need another coffee run?”
He rolls over and continues to sleep and I bite back my smile as I look down at my stomach again. Two tiny heartbeats inside of me. My fingers curl protectively over the small curve of my abdomen.
I’m happy. God, I’m so happy. But underneath the joy is a fear so strong it’s almost suffocating, because I’ve been here before, and I know how quickly miracles can disappear.
Gabriel squeezes my hand. “Hey,” he says, like he can read every thought unraveling in my head. “We’ve got this.”
I nod, but inside I’m terrified.
The nurse steps out to page the doctor, leaving me and Gabriel in silence. He hasn’t let go of my hand as he studies me, trying to read what all the emotions flickering across my face must mean.
There’s a soft knock at the door before a doctor walks inside, tablet tucked against her chest.
“Good afternoon, Zalea. I’m very glad to see you awake. My name is Doctor Ricci.”
“Hi,” I murmur.
Gabriel straightens in his chair as she comes closer, and even Zale finally wakes up, staring at me stunned as he sits up on the bench.
“I want to go over everything clearly,” she continues, moving to the side of my bed. “You are approximately seventeen weeks pregnant with dichorionic twins.”
I blink. “Di-what?”
“Two separate placenta,” she clarifies. “This is good news. It means each baby has its own support system, which lowers certain risks.”
Everything she’s saying sounds like good news, but the way she delivers it makes me feel like the bad news is just about to hit.
“But, my doctor in Hawaii said I wasn’t pregnant,” I say. “He did ultrasounds and only found cysts. I even had my period, twice.”
She nods, listening. “In some cases, it can take longer for twins to show up on an ultrasound. However, there could also have been some sort of malfunction with the equipment that was used, I’m not really sure. But, we usually classify this as a cryptic pregnancy, especially with you still experiencing your period."
“So, you for sure saw babies?”
“We did,” she nods with a small smile. “But the trauma from the accident caused internal bleeding and significant uterine stress.”
As if my stomach senses that we’re talking about it, it tightens under my hand.
“We are concerned about placental abruption,” she says. “That is when the placenta detaches from the uterus. In twin pregnancies, that risk is already higher. With blunt force trauma, it becomes…very serious.”
“How serious?” Gabriel asks quietly.
“Life threatening. For Zalea and for the babies,” she replies bluntly.
The silence is so heavy, and I feel Gabriel’s hand begin to shake in mine.
I swallow. “Did it detach?”
“Partially,” she says. “One placenta showed signs of early separation but we intervened quickly.”
