Room three is small and sterile, with an examination table covered in paper, a rolling stool, and an ultrasound machine in the corner. Giulia sits on the table, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed on the floor. I lean against the wall by the door, as far from her as I can get in the small space.
The silence stretches. "Luca—" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't." I cut her off before she could finish. "Whatever you're about to say, don't."
She flinches like I've struck her, and something in my chest twists painfully. But I don't take it back or soften. I can't.
The door opens, and Dr. Robinson walks in. "Mr. and Mrs. Moretti," she says warmly, extending her hand first to Giulia, then to me. "It's good to see you both. How are you feeling, Giulia?"
"Tired," Giulia says quietly. "Nauseous. But managing."
"That's normal for this stage. The fatigue should start to ease up in the next few weeks as you move into the second trimester." Dr. Robinson pulls up a stool and opens Giulia's chart on her tablet. "Any cramping? Spotting? Unusual pain?"
"No. Nothing like that."
"Good. That's good." She looks up with a smile. "Today we're going to do a quick ultrasound to check on the baby's development and listen to the heartbeat. Sound good?"
Giulia nods, and I feel my own heart rate kick up a notch. We're going to hear the heartbeat.
I'm not ready for this—to make this real in a way that goes beyond Giulia's growing belly and morning sickness. I’m not ready to confront the fact that there's an actual person growing inside her—a person I helped create, a person who's going to exist whether I'm ready for it or not.
"Lie back for me," Dr. Robinson instructs, and Giulia complies, lifting her dress to expose her stomach. Dr. Robinson squirts gel onto Giulia's belly, and Giulia gasps at the cold sensation. The doctor picks up the ultrasound wand and presses it against her skin, moving it slowly as she studies the monitor. "There we go," she murmurs. "Let's see..."
The image on the screen is grainy and unclear to my untrained eye. Just shapes and shadows that don't make sense. And then Dr. Robinson adjusts something, and suddenly I can make out… something.
"There's your baby," Dr. Robinson says, her voice warm. "Measuring right on track. Everything looks good."
Giulia makes a sound, and her hand comes up to cover her mouth. I can't move or breathe. I can't do anything except stare at that tiny shape on the screen.
That's my child.
"And now for the heartbeat," Dr. Robinson says, adjusting a dial on the machine. The sound fills the room, rapid and fluttering. My vision blurs, and my throat closes. My hands are shaking, and I have to shove them in my pockets to hide them. The reaction feels sudden and startling.
That's my child's heartbeat. I'm going to be a father.
The realization crashes over me in waves, each one more devastating than the last. I'm going to be responsible for this tiny person. I’m going to have to protect them, provide for them, teach them how to navigate a world that's brutal and unforgiving. And I'm going to have to do it with Giulia.
The woman I can't forgive and can't stop wanting. The woman who's carrying my child and looking at that monitor like it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
"Heartbeat is strong," Dr. Robinson says, oblivious to the emotional devastation happening inside me. Giulia is crying now, tears streaming down her face as she stares at the screen. Her hand reaches out—toward me, I think—but I can't move to take it, to offer her the comfort she's looking for.
If I touch her right now, I'm going to break.
"Everything looks great," Dr. Robinson continues, removing the wand and wiping the gel off Giulia's stomach. "I'll print out some pictures for you to take home. Keep doing what you're doing—prenatal vitamins, plenty of rest, small frequent meals if the nausea is still bothering you. I'll see you back in four weeks for your next checkup."
She leaves the room to print the ultrasound photos, and suddenly Giulia and I are alone with the echo of that heartbeat still ringing in my ears.
Giulia sits up slowly, pulling her dress back down and wiping at her eyes with shaking hands.
"Luca," she whispers. "Did you see?—"
"I saw." My voice comes out rough and sharp. "Get dressed. We should go."
She flinches again, and I hate myself for it—hate that I can't give her what she needs right now. I hate that I'm too fucking broken to be the man she deserves.
But I can't change who I am or what she did.
And I can't change the fact that hearing that heartbeat just made everything infinitely more complicated.
