Page 84 of The Song We Lost

Life.

The sun is too bright through the windshield. It makes everything feel sharper than it should.

“What about Braxton for a boy or… ohhhh what’s that name of the hockey player you like? Carson is his last name… ohhh what about Carson?” Sadie continues chatting about baby names while my heart feels like it is being shredded with every breath.

We pull into the hospital parking lot and I feel a familiar hum under my skin. It is similar to the one I get before walking on stage. But this isn’t just anticipation, this is mixed with dread.

The OBGYN office is warm, light green and aggressively cheerful. Framed baby photos line the walls. A sign near reception reads ‘Welcome Little Ones’.

Sadie checks in like she’s done this a hundred times and then we sit.

Cole’s knee bounces once before he forces it still. I can’t watch him, his grief is too painful, so I watch Sadie instead. She looks almost normal here. Just another pregnant woman waiting for her anatomy scan. When they call her name, I follow automatically.

The room is dimmed for the ultrasound. The tech smiles when she asks, “Twenty weeks today?”

“Halfway there,” Sadie says, squeezing my hand.

Halfway…

The gel is cold. Sadie flinches and laughs softly. The screen fills with grainy movement, a wooshing sound fills the room and I go still. I see it… A tiny spine. A flicker of a heart. Limbs stretching. My breath catches in my throat. The tech points things out in a calm, practiced voice.

“Heartbeat looks strong. Measuring right on track. Growth is perfect.”

Perfect.

Sadie starts crying quietly and Cole presses his lips together so hard they turn white.

“And would you like to know the sex?” the tech asks.

Sadie looks at Cole first and then up at me.

“Yes,” she whispers.

The tech tilts the wand slightly, clicks a couple of buttons.

“There she is,” she says gently. “You’re having a girl.”

She… A girl.

Sadie laughs through her tears.

“A girl,” she repeats, like it’s a miracle.

Cole bows his head, his hands cradled around the back of his head, hands trembling.. A girl. Another one of us.

Sadie reaches for my hand again, I don't remember pulling it away…

“Bailey,” she whispers, smiling through tears. “She’s perfect.”

And she is. For a moment, the cancer disappears. It’s just us.

Three souls staring at a tiny heartbeat on a screen.

Life.

The oncology office is quieter. The lighting is cooler. The walls are less decorated. The air feels heavier.

The doctor is calm, in his late forties. He has steady eyes and the kind of presence meant to reassure. He reviews her chart like we are discussing logistics.