She nods, staring straight ahead at a crooked poster about folic acid. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap. She’s twisting the hem of her sleeve around one finger.
“Nora…” I start.
But the nurse calls her name.
We both stand.
She doesn’t wait for me—but I follow.
In the exam room, it’s quiet again. The paper on the exam table crinkles as she sits. She lifts her sweater, revealing smooth, flat skin—nothing to see yet, but everything has already changed.
It knocks the air out of me.
It’s real.
It’shappening.
I keep my eyes on the ultrasound machine instead of the woman lying on the table just a few feet away.
Nora.
She’s staring at the ceiling, trying to act calm, but I know her well enough to see the strain in the way her fingers twist in her lap. She’s trying to hold herself together. I don’t let myself feel anything about that.
The nurse hums as she applies the gel to Nora’s stomach. Too chipper. Too normal. Like this is just another Thursday and not a scene from a life I didn’t ask to be dragged into.
“You’re around seven weeks now,” she says. “We might be able to hear the heartbeat.”
Heartbeat.
The word knocks something loose in my chest.
I tighten my arms around myself.
The Doppler clicks on. There’s a fizz of static. White noise. Then—
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It’s faint at first. Distant. Like it’s coming from inside a tunnel. Then louder. Sharper.
And fuck.
It’s real.
I don’t want it to hit me the way it does, but it does. That sound—fast and steady, like a runaway drumbeat—grabs me by the spine and doesn’t let go.
“That’s your baby,” the nurse says, and suddenly the room feels too small.
I glance at Nora.
She’s already looking at me.
And for the first time in weeks, there’s no anger in her face. No confusion. Just something open and unbearably soft. She looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the moment. Like she knows it might be the last one we share that isn’t poisoned.
And God help me, part of me wants to freeze this. Hold onto it. Pretend nothing’s broken.
But it is.
Still, I can’t stop staring at her. I don’t even realize I’m standing until I’m on my feet.
