“Mm. I’ve met your sweet tooth. This kid doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Right,” I say, nodding. “So definitely a raspberry.”
That gets one eye open. “You think it’s a girl?”
“I think it’s someone who already ignores medical advice and refuses to sit down when she’s dizzy,” I say dryly. “So, yeah. Girl feels like a safe bet.”
She snorts. “God help you.”
“Too late,” I murmur, squeezing her hand. “I’m already fucked.”
***
“Ready?”
Carina nods, and my thumb brushes hers.
The cold gel makes her flinch a little, but then the sonographer presses the wand to her belly, and the screen flickers to life.
And I forget how to fucking breathe.
Because there it is.
A baby.
Our baby.
Not some blob or a small bean-shaped blur, not a heartbeat on a black and white pulse strip.
They’re fully formed now, with tiny legs tucked in, little arms stretching lazily toward their face. With fingers. Toes. A roundbelly. A perfect spine like a constellation of light across the screen.
I stare, locked in place, and my hand tightens around Carina’s without thinking.
“There’s the heartbeat,” the tech murmurs, adjusting the probe slightly. An even pulse echoes from the machine. “Strong and regular. Looks good.”
Carina lets out a breath beside me, so soft I barely hear it. I glance down, but her eyes are fixed on the screen, and her expression is every shade of relief and wonder and fear layered in quiet stillness.
The sonographer moves the wand again. “You want to know the sex?”
Carina doesn’t answer, just tilts her head to smile softly at me. “You decide.”
My mouth is dry, my throat’s tight, but I manage a nod.
“Yes.”
The tech smiles. “It’s a girl.”
The words land soft. So soft, they don’t hit all at once.
A girl.
A second passes, then another.
Then it crashes, and my throat burns. I blink, heart suddenly hammering harder than it ever has in my whole damn life.
A girl.
I swallow and say it out loud, even though I barely recognize my own voice.
