Vasquez stops the wand. She adjusts the angle by a fraction and the static on the screen resolves. A dark circle appears with a smaller shape inside it, curved and flickering.
"There it is." Vasquez taps the screen. "Strong heartbeat. One hundred and fifty-two beats per minute."
One fifty-two. The number registers in the clinical part of my brain first. Normal range for eight weeks is between 150 and 170 BPM. One fifty-two is low-normal and healthy. The measurement on screen reads consistent with eight weeks plus two days, which aligns with my calculated conception date from the heat.
The rest of me hears my baby’s heartbeat.
The sound fills the room when Vasquez adjusts the audio, a rapid wet pulse that no recording prepared me for. The persistent ache that's been the background of every waking moment for three weeks goes silent.
Mattaniah's eyes drop from the ceiling to the screen. His mouth opens and nothing comes out. Through the bond his anxiety gets swallowed by something larger. His eyes fill and the tears spill sideways across his temples into his hair.
"That's the heartbeat?" His voice comes out wrecked. "That fast sound?"
"One hundred and fifty-two beats per minute is normal for this stage." Vasquez keeps the wand steady. "The fetus is measuring consistent with eight weeks. Development is on track."
"Eight weeks." I say it and something has happened to my voice. "That's approximately the size of a kidney bean."
"Close." Vasquez moves the wand slightly. "Everything looks healthy. Good implantation, good cardiac activity, no abnormalities visible at this stage."
On the other side of the table, Dominic hasn't spoken. I look at him across Mattaniah's body. His hand is pressed flat against theOmega's stomach, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on the screen, his scent thick enough to fill the room.
Mattaniah's free hand comes up and covers Dominic's on his stomach, the contact steadying the mild tremor in our Alpha’s hand.
"Hey, kidney bean." Mattaniah says it to the screen and his voice cracks on the second word. "We can hear you."
I try to turn the sound that escapes me into a cough, which fails spectacularly. Vasquez prints the ultrasound image and hands it to Mattaniah, our Omega cradling it in front of his face with both hands.
"That's our kid." He says it to the printout. "That tiny flickering thing is our actual kid."
"That tiny flickering thing has a heartbeat of one fifty-two and is on track developmentally." I take the printout from his hands and examine it. The measurements are clean and the cardiac rhythm is regular. I memorize every data point on the image because the alternative is crying until Vasquez asks us to leave. "I'm going to need a copy of this for the file."
"You have a file?"
"I have three files. Medical, legal, and developmental milestones." I hand the printout back. "This goes in medical."
"You started a developmental milestones file for a fetus the size of a kidney bean."
"The file is aspirational at this stage." My mouth curves despite the fact that my eyes are still wet. "The data will catch up."
The drive home is quiet. Mattaniah sits in the back seat with the ultrasound printout in his hands, his thumb tracing the edge of the image. I drive because Dominic's hands haven't stopped shaking since the heartbeat filled the room. Neither of us mentions it. Dominic runs a company and stares downboardrooms. His hands are shaking because he heard his baby’s heartbeat.
The apartment is warm when we arrive, Mattaniah still holding the printout as he settles on the couch. I sit beside him and he tips sideways until his head rests on my shoulder. The printout balances on his thigh and we both stare at it.
Dominic stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room long enough for his composure to slip, his jaw loosening, his shoulders dropping.
"Are we going to be okay?" His voice is rough. "Really okay?"
Mattaniah lifts his head from my shoulder and looks at him across the room. The gaze holds steady.
"Yeah." He says it simply. "I think we are."
Dominic exhales as he crosses the room and fits himself against Mattaniah's other side. A moment later, Mattaniah presses the ultrasound printout against Dominic's chest.
"Your daughter." He says it, his mouth curving up a little.
"We don't know it's a daughter."
"You've called our baby 'she' a few times." Mattaniah's grin widens. "Are you backing down from that?"
