Pregnant.
The word echoed in my skull, not quite connecting to reality.
I stared at the grainy black-and-white image on her tablet. I couldn't process what I was seeing. Just shapes. Shadows. The medical equipment was showing me something impossible.
"I can't be pregnant," I heard myself say. "We've been careful. Mostly. I mean—"
Except we hadn't. Not always. Not in the cabin when we'd celebrated survival. Not that night after we'd stolen evidence from Marco's estate, high on adrenaline and relief. Not the dozen other times when fear and love and desperate need had overridden caution.
"You're definitely pregnant," Dr. Chao said gently. "And Ms. DeLuca—" She zoomed in on the ultrasound. "It's twins. See here? Two distinct gestational sacs. Two heartbeats."
She pointed to two tiny flickering spots on the screen.
Two.
Twins.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at those two impossibly small lives growing inside me while my entire world rearranged itself around this new reality.
I'm going to be a mother. Of twins. Alessio's twins.
"Based on your hormone levels and measurements, conception was likely early to mid-September," Dr. Chao continued. "Which puts you at eight weeks now. Due date approximately late May, early June."
September. The cabin. When we'd been hiding from Marco, falling in love, choosing each other despite every reason not to.
We'd created life in the middle of running for ours.
"Are they—" My voice cracked. "Are they okay? After everything—the stress, the drugs Simpson gave me, Marco—"
"Heartbeats are strong. Development appears normal for gestational age. But Ms. DeLuca, I need to be honest with you." Dr. Chao's expression grew more serious. "The level of trauma and stress you've experienced—both physical and psychological—puts this pregnancy at higher risk. The drugs in your system, the physical altercations, the extreme fear response—all of that can impact fetal development."
Ice flooded my veins. "What does that mean?"
"It means we'll monitor you very closely. Weekly ultrasounds initially, frequent blood work, and watching for any signs of complications. You'll need to minimize stress as much as possible—" She caught herself, almost laughed. "Which I realize sounds absurd given your circumstances. But whatever you can do to reduce physical and emotional strain will help."
Reduce stress. Right. While testifying against my father. While processing that he'd tried to murder me. While figuring out how to build a life with Alessio, when everything was falling apart.
Simple.
"Can I see him?" The question burst out. "Alessio. Please. I need to see him."
Dr. Chao's expression softened. "He's the father?"
"Yes."
"He's been asking about you constantly. Drove the nurses crazy demanding updates." She smiled. "Let me check with his treatment team. If he's cleared, I'll have someone bring him up."
She left. I lay there staring at the ultrasound image still displayed on the tablet she'd left behind.
Two tiny spots. Two heartbeats. Two lives that depended entirely on me keeping myself alive and safe.
What have we done?
Not regret. Not exactly. But overwhelming terror at the enormity of it.
I was going to be someone's mother. Two someones. Would be responsible for keeping them alive, safe, and loved. Would have to figure out how to raise children when I barely knew how to keep myself alive.
And Alessio—
