“There it is,” she says.
I blink, brain lagging behind reality.“Where?”
Jane points with one gloved finger.“Right here.That little shape.”
It’s tiny.
Definitely not a baby the way my brain insists a baby should look.No cute cheeks.No toes.Just a small curled form—like a little bean with ambition.
And then—thump-thump-thump.
A low, rhythmic sound fills the room.Deep and fast and impossibly sure of itself.
My entire body goes still.
My vision goes watery in a way that makes me furious, because I am not a crier, and yet here I am, about to cry because a sound is happening.
“That,” Jane says, voice softening, “is the heartbeat.”
My breath slips out of me like I’ve been holding it for weeks.
“That’s ...it?”My voice wobbles.“That sound that’s loud and so real?”
Jane nods, adjusting the image so it sharpens.“Yes.See the head?It’s proportionally bigger right now because the brain is developing quickly.And these little nubs—those are the early arms and legs.”
I stare like if I stare hard enough, I’ll understand how my body did this without asking permission.
A sound escapes me—half laugh, half sob—and I hate how raw it is.
Cally makes a noise beside me, and when I glance over, he’s not grinning.
He’s frozen.
His hand is still wrapped around mine, but his grip has changed.Tighter.Like he’s holding on becauseheneeds to, not because he thinks I do.
His eyes are on the screen, glassy and stunned, like he’s seeing a future he didn’t let himself imagine.
Monty leans in closer on my other side, and the air around him shifts.He doesn’t crowd me, doesn’t touch me yet, but he’s there—so present it’s almost physical.
“That’s it?”he whispers, voice barely audible.
The way he says it is not casual.It’s reverent, as if the words got caught on something inside him.
“A little miracle,” Cally says, and surprisingly, it doesn’t sound like a joke.
I wait for the humor, the deflection.For Cally to crack something stupid and bright, for Monty to lock his face down and retreat into silence.
Instead, Cally’s free hand lifts to his mouth like he’s trying to keep himself from making a sound.His eyes dart to me and back to the screen, like he can’t decide which is more overwhelming: the heartbeat or the fact that I’m the one carrying it.
Monty’s jaw flexes once.His gaze doesn’t leave the monitor, and his hand—his big, strong hand—hovers near my hip like he wants to touch me but is asking permission without words.
My chest hurts in a way that has nothing to do with my lungs.
I blink hard, and tears spill anyway.Ugh.
Cally notices immediately.He shifts closer, careful around the paper sheet, and presses a kiss to my temple—soft, quick, like he’s trying not to scare me with tenderness.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, like he’s saying it to himself too.
