Toward what comes next.
The doctor enters with an easy confidence.
“Mrs. Bien, It’s nice to meet you.”
She reviews my chart quickly, then looks up.
“Based on your symptoms and the timeline you’ve given us, everything sounds consistent with early pregnancy,” she says. “We’ll confirm gestational age with an ultrasound today.”
Trey’s hand tightens around mine as we follow her into a back room.
The room is darker this time.
Dimmed lights.
A quiet hum of machinery.
I lie back on the exam table, the paper beneath me crinkling softly as I shift. Trey stays at my side, one hand braced on the edge of the table, the other wrapped tightly around mine.
The technician smiles gently.
“You might feel a little cold,” she says.
She isn’t wrong.
The gel hits my skin and I flinch slightly at the temperature, a sharp contrast against the warmth of Trey’s touch.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady. “I’ve got you.”
The wand presses lightly against my abdomen.
The monitor flickers.
Static.
Shadows.
My heart climbs into my throat. “There’s the gestational sac,” the technician says softly, pointing to the screen.
I stare.
Trying to understand what I’m seeing. It looks grainy, like a damaged, old TV set we had at the rectory for years.
“And right there…” She adjusts the angle slightly. “That’s your baby.”
My breathing stutters.
“Measuring at approximately nine weeks and three days.”
Nine weeks.
Three days.
The words settle into me slowly, like they’re searching for somewhere to belong.
“And here—” she tilts the wand again, and suddenly there’s movement, fast, rhythmic, “that flicker? That’s the heartbeat.” A whooshing sound fills the room.
My breath catches so hard it almost hurts.
