"Wow, that was something," she says, trying for lightness and not quite achieving it.
"Yeah."
She studies my face, her expression shifting to concern. "You don’t look great. Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine." I'm not fine. I'm completely gutted. But I don't know how to explain that to her. Don't know how to articulate the enormity of what I just felt.
Emma crosses to me, and her hand finds my chest, right over my heart. "Talk to me. What's going on in there?"
How do I explain this?
"I wasn't prepared for it to feel like that," I say finally.
"Like what?"
My hand covers hers, holding it against my chest. "Emma, I've been thinking about this—about the pregnancy, about becoming a father again—as something to manage. A situation to navigate."
"I know." There's no accusation in her voice. Just understanding.
"But seeing them—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat, try again. "Hearing their heartbeats. They're real, and they're ours, and I?—"
I sound like a bumbling idiot as the words jam in my throat. I can't get them out.
Emma steps closer, her free hand coming up to cup my face. "Hey. It's okay. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay."
"What if I screw this up the way I screwed up with Samantha? What if I'm so busy trying to solve problems that I miss what they actually need? What if?—"
"Grant." Emma's voice is firm now. "Stop."
I do, meeting her eyes.
"You're already doing better than you did with Samantha," she says. "You know what she needed that she didn't get. You know what went wrong. That means you can do it differently this time."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"I do." She says it simply, like she really believes it. "Because you showed up today even though you were nervous. Because you held my hand through that ultrasound even though you were dealing with your own feelings. Because you're here, Grant."
The words unlock something in me. She's right. I am here. And maybe that's enough.
I pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her and holding on like she's the only thing keeping me grounded. She melts into me, her arms circling my waist, her head resting against my chest.
"Those are our babies," I say into her hair.
"Yeah."
"I'm going to be a father. Again."
"You are." She pulls back enough to look at me, and there's something fierce in her expression. "And I know—I know we're both scared of screwing it up. But we’re in this together.”
Together. The word resonates through my entire body.
Two people figuring it out as they go, making mistakes and fixing them, supporting each other without one person disappearing into the other's shadow.
"Together," I agree.
She stretches up and kisses me, and I taste salt from her tears. When she pulls back, she's smiling. "We should probably leave before they need this room for the next patient."
Right. I release her reluctantly, and we gather our things—Emma's purse, the folder of information Dr. Martelle gave us, the ultrasound photos that I already know I'm going to look at a hundred times tonight.
