Same difference.
She tried to play it cool, shoulders squared, expression inscrutable, like it didn’t matter either way, but I caught the relief in her eyes before she schooled her features back into stone.
That’s Rina in a nutshell.
Just when I think I’m breaking through and making progress, she shoves me two steps back again.
Here’s the thing… She can keep pushing all she wants. But at some point, she’s going to realize I’m not going anywhere.
It’s been twenty minutes since we were shown into a small exam room with pale-yellow walls and paper stretched tight across the table. The nurse took her vitals—weight, temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure. And I asked after each one, with the exception of weight, if it was normal.
Listen, I’m not a total idiot. I know better than to comment on a woman’s weight.
Ever.
So, yeah, I kept my mouth shut and logged detailed notes into my phone like I was studying for an exam.
After handing Rina a cup for a urine sample and a paper to drape over the lower half of her body, the nurse slipped away, promising the doctor would be in shortly.
Shortly, my ass.
That was twenty minutes ago.
“This is ridiculous. Why is it taking so long? Is she coming from out of state?” My leg bounces restlessly, elbows digging into my thighs. Every second that ticks by makes the pressure in my chest worse. I won’t be able to settle until someone tells me our baby is okay.
Rina sits on the exam table, her expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement as she rolls her eyes. “I told you that you didn’t have to come with.”
“And I told you there was no way I’d miss it. I’ll be at each and every appointment.”
“That sounds more like a threat.” Her glare cuts sideways. “Tell me, are you going to be this much fun at all of them?”
I jerk my shoulders. “Probably.”
The door finally opens, and a petite older woman with silver threaded through her dark hair steps inside. Her warm eyes miss nothing as she greets us with a practiced smile. She introduces herself, shakes both our hands, then moves to the sink to wash up before snapping on gloves with brisk, efficient movements.
“Let’s take a look and see if we can find the heartbeat,” she says. “Although, it might be a little too early.”
Rina eases back onto the table, the paper beneath her crinkling in the quiet room. Without thinking, I lace my fingers through hers. She squeezes once, her knuckles blanching white. I brush a loose strand of hair off her forehead and press my lips there.
The doctor explains that she’ll be using vaginal ultrasound to find the baby’s heartbeat. She positions herself between Rina’s legs before carefully inserting the probe. Silence stretches, each second dragging by like an eternity. A knot forms in my chest with every beat of nothing. My pulse hammers so loud, it drowns out the rest of the world.
And then a rapid thump-thump-thump fills the room.
My kid’s heartbeat hits me like a freight train. The impact seizes something deep inside, like that tempo clawed its way in and marked me. That tiny, relentless sound just rewrote every goddamn thing I thought I knew about love.
It’s quick and steady, like rain against glass. For a second, it’s the only thing anchoring me to the world.
Instead of looking at the monitor, I stare at Rina.
Her lashes flutter, her eyes blinking repeatedly, as if she can’t keep up with the wave crashing over her. Her lips tremble, and her free hand lifts without thought to hover protectively over her stomach. Even though she tries to fight it back, I see the raw emotion in her face.
How could she not feel it?
“You hear that, babe?” My voice is hoarse. “We made that.”
Her watery laugh breaks into a sob, and I swear, no matter how long I live, I’ll never forget the sound.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “We did.”
