Dr. Winters was waiting for us, his wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed a chart. He looked up as we entered, his kind face breaking into a genuine smile.
“Danny, Burke,” he greeted us. “How are we feeling today?”
“Nervous,” I admitted, climbing onto the examination table as Burke took up position beside me.
“That’s perfectly normal.” Dr. Winters pulled over a rolling stool, sitting down at eye level with me. “Let’s start with your vitals, and then we’ll see if we can catch a glimpse of your little one.”
The examination was thorough but gentle. Dr. Winters checked my blood pressure, listened to my heart and lungs, and asked detailed questions about my appetite, sleep, and the few remaining symptoms of morning sickness. His hands were warm when he measured my growing bump, making notes on my chart with neat, precise handwriting.
“Everything looks wonderful,” he assured me. “You’re measuring exactly where you should be at twelve weeks. Are you ready to hear the heartbeat?”
I nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Burke’s hand found mine, squeezing gently.
Dr. Winters pulled a small device from his pocket that looked like a microphone attached to a handheld speaker. “This is a fetal doppler,” he explained. “It’ll let us hear your baby’s heartbeat. The gel might be a little cold.”
I flinched slightly as he spread the clear gel across my lower abdomen, then held my breath as he pressed the wand against my skin. For a few seconds, there was nothing but static and the muffled sound of my own heartbeat.
Then—Fast and strong, like a galloping horse. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
My baby’s heartbeat.
Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them, hot and sudden. I looked up at Burke and found his expression transformed—the usual cocky confidence stripped away, replaced by naked wonder and a vulnerability I’d rarely seen him allow himself.
“That’s our baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. His hand tightened around mine, and I saw moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“Strong and steady,” Dr. Winters confirmed, moving the doppler slightly to maintain the sound. “Exactly what we want to hear.”
We listened for what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough, until Dr. Winters gently removed the wand and handed me a tissue to wipe away the gel.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins,” he said, turning to his prescription pad. “Make sure you’re eating well—plenty of protein, calcium, and iron. And rest when yourbody tells you to rest. The second trimester is often the easiest, but male omega pregnancies can be unpredictable.”
He handed me a stack of pamphlets along with the prescription. “These will answer most of your questions, but call me anytime if you’re concerned about anything. I want to see you back in four weeks.”
The walk back to the reception area passed in a daze, my mind still echoing with the sound of that rapid heartbeat. Burke handled the scheduling while I clutched the pamphlets and prescription to my chest like precious cargo.
As we stepped outside, I instinctively looked across the street. Dennis was gone. Relief flooded through me, quickly followed by confusion as I spotted a different familiar figure leaning against Burke’s truck.
Sterling stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression neutral as always. But his knuckles were visibly scraped and beginning to bruise, a smear of what might have been blood darkening the cuff of his shirt.
My eyes met his across the parking lot and a silent understanding passed between us. No one spoke as we approached—no one needed to. The answers hung unspoken in the air, clear as day.
Dennis had been there. Dennis was now gone. And Sterling’s knuckles told the rest of the story.
Sterling simply nodded once before falling into step beside us, a silent sentinel as we walked to the truck. His presence was steady and sure, a shield between us and whatever dangers might lie ahead.
As Burke opened the passenger door for me, I caught Sterling watching me with that assessing gaze of his. But beneath the professional calculation, I saw something else—something fiercely protective that mirrored what I’d seen in Burke’s eyes as we’d listened to our baby’s heartbeat.
I smiled at him, small but genuine. He didn’t smile back—Sterling rarely did—but his eyes softened just slightly before he turned away to scan the street one last time. It wasn’t much, that tiny shift in his expression, but it was enough.
Inside the truck, I held the sonogram picture in my hands, tracing the fuzzy outline with my fingertip. The grainy black and white image didn’t look like much to an untrained eye—mostly shadows and blurry shapes—but to me, it was everything. Our baby. The tiny heartbeat we’d heard in the doctor’s office was now a tangible thing I could hold, proof that this miracle was real despite all odds.
“I still can’t believe we’re having a baby,” I said, unable to contain the wonder in my voice despite the earlier tension outside the clinic. The encounter with Dennis felt distant now, pushed aside by the sound of that rapid heartbeat still echoing in my ears.
Burke glanced away from the road long enough to flash me a smile that made my heart skip. His hand found my knee, warm and steady against my jeans. “Believe it, darlin’. That’s our kid in there.”
The truck’s engine hummed steadily as we drove down the country road back toward the ranch, the familiar landscape rolling past my window. Behind us, Sterling followed in the black sedan, maintaining a careful distance—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to give us privacy.
I couldn’t stop staring at the sonogram. Dr. Winters had pointed out the head, the tiny limb buds, the curve of the spine. “Perfectly formed,” he’d said, his voice warm with professional pride. “Right on schedule.”
