So I tried—I reached out and gently wrapped my fingers around hers.
She pulled away.
The rejection was quiet, barely a gesture, but it hit me harder than any scream ever could. I swallowed hard, stepping back a little.
The doctor pointed at the screen. “There,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby. Everything looks healthy.”
The image flickered in grayscale on the monitor, soft and grainy and impossibly fragile.
She adjusted a few settings, then nodded. “Thirty-two weeks already. The weight and length look great.”
She moved the probe slightly. “Alright, let’s check the baby’s heartbeat.”
A sudden burst of sound filled the room, a quick, rhythmic thumping, steady like a tiny galloping drum.
And suddenly, Elena brought a hand to her mouth, her shoulders trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks.
Mine followed a heartbeat later. It wasn’t the kind of cry you expect from a joyful ultrasound. It was the kind you make when something precious shines through the ruins of everything else you’ve destroyed.
The doctor blinked at us, confused. She clearly thought our reaction was too intense, too emotional for a routine scan. She offered a polite smile, the kind people give when they think they’ve just witnessed a sweet moment between expectant parent.
But she had no idea. She didn’t know this child was the only thread holding us together. She didn’t know how much pain sat between us on that examination table.
On the driveto her office, the silence wrapped around us again, but not as heavy as before. I glanced at her hand resting on her lap.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Then, slowly, carefully, I reached out again. This time she didn’t pull away.
She let me hold her hand. My chest loosened, a small breath of relief escaping me. It wasn’t forgiveness, not even close, but it was something. A tiny crack in the wall between us. A fragile sign she wasn’t entirely gone.
I squeezed her fingers gently.
And for some reason, I felt hope.
—?—
Elena
By the time I finished reviewing the Q3 operating expense report, my eyes were burning. I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, rubbing the knot forming at the base of my neck.
“Here,” I said, sliding the printed sheets across my desk toward Harley, my junior. “Q3 looks good overall, but the vendor reconciliation still needs more detail. A few invoices don’t match their purchase orders.”
Harley let out a low groan. “Elena... do you ever get tired of being this meticulous?”
I lifted a brow. “Do you ever get tired of missing things?”
He smirked—that confident, annoyingly charming smirk he always had. “Touché. Still harsh, though.”
“Realistic,” I corrected.
“Sure,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “Realistic. Brutally so. My mentor, everyone.”
This time, I almost smiled. Almost.
Before Harley could say anything else, Jessica appeared beside us, tapping a finger on my desk. She worked in the Tax Division. We joined the company around the same time and basically clung to each other until we figured out how this place worked.
“Lunch?” she asked brightly. “Come on, I’m starving. I’m craving Indian today. Harley, you coming?”
