I freeze as the word echoes through me, loud and jarring, and yet, unexpectedly right.
I wait for Laiken to correct her.
It only takes a moment to realize he isn’t going to.
For half a second, I consider blurting out the truth. Before I can, Laiken steps closer, and when our gazes lock, an unspoken understanding passes between us.
How is it that pretending feels dangerous, but also comforting in a way that makes it far too easy?
The doctor squeezes a line of gel onto my abdomen, explaining that she’ll be using a Doppler ultrasound to find the baby’s heartbeat. Her tone is calm as she spreads the clear lubricant and moves the probe slowly across my belly.
The silence stretches in the room until it’s enough to jangle my nerves. Every second feels amplified. Every breath too loud. For the first time since taking that at-home test, real fear creeps in. It’s not the blinding panic of discovering I was pregnant, but something colder and far more sobering. Lying here now, waiting for proof that something is growing inside me, I realize I’d already assumed this baby was real when that might not be the case.
What if something’s wrong?
The thought is enough to have tears pricking my eyes. My gaze locks on Laiken, instinctively seeking comfort from his steady presence. His lips lift slightly at the corners. It’s not quite a smile but something that’s reassuring nonetheless. And it’s enough to settle all the nerves racing through me.
When the doctor turns the screen and adjusts the volume, a thump-thump-thump echoes around the room.
A heartbeat.
My breath catches as the sound fills every corner of me before vibrating straight through my chest. This tiny, undeniable rhythm exists because of me.
I didn’t know what to expect at this appointment, but it wasn’t this sudden, overwhelming rush of wonder. Of fear and love tangling together so tightly I’m not able to tell them apart.
I glance at Laiken again and find his jaw locked and eyes shining with amazement. He looks shaken. As if something fundamental has shifted for him as well. He leans down, brushing his lips against my forehead. The touch is soft and full of emotion.
That’s when I realize this isn’t just my moment anymore. It belongs to both of us. That knowledge hits almost as hard as the heartbeat did.
The doctor sets the probe aside and explains what the next few appointments will look like as Laiken reaches for a towel and wipes the gel from my abdomen. His touch is achingly gentle, and it’s almost a surprise when heat blooms low in my belly before curling through me. My breath catches, air thickening in my lungs as his gaze locks on mine, holding it captive.
The awareness between us is unmistakable.
It isn’t sexual. Not exactly. It’s deeper than that. Quieter. More intimate.
It feels more like recognition.
Like he’s standing in the middle of the same emotional storm, feeling every jagged edge and overwhelming swell right alongside me. As if, somehow, the weight of it all has shifted just enough to be shared. For a suspended moment, neither of us moves. The world seems to fall away before he takes a step in retreat and the distance snaps back into place.
The doctor excuses herself as I tug my sweater down and button my jeans with shaking hands. Although, this time it’s not from nerves but the aftershock of something I’m not ready to name.
The air feels different now.
Charged.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, voice roughened just enough that I feel it everywhere.
I nod. “Thank you again for coming with.”
The words feel woefully inadequate.
“I’ll be at all of them, if that’s what you want.”
The promise comes out of nowhere but means more than he can possibly understand. For the first time since my world fell apart, I don’t feel so alone in all this.
And that has everything to do with the man standing beside me.
24
