Try less hard at trying?
That’s not even logically coherent.
But I nodded anyway.
Because I wastrying.
Week Twenty:
The ultrasound appointment.
I’d been preparing for this for weeks. Had read every piece of literature on fetal development. Had memorized normal measurements and developmental milestones. Had created a list of questions for the technician.
I wasready.
“Excited?” Athena asked as we sat in the waiting room.
“Nervous,” I admitted.
“Why? Everything’s been fine.”
“I know. But there’s always a chance.”
“Julien.” She took my hand. “The universe has this handled.”
The universe, I thought,has been actively sabotaging me for months.
But I didn’t say that.
Because I wastrying.
“Dr. and Mrs. Darcy?” The technician appeared in the doorway. Young, cheerful, completely unaware that she was about to deliver news that would fundamentally alter my existence.
We followed her into the examination room as Athena lay down on the table. I sat in the chair beside her, my hand gripping hers, my heart rate elevated, my breathing carefully controlled.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
This is routine.
The technician squeezed gel onto Athena’s stomach and pressed the transducer against her skin, and the screen flickered to life.
“Okay,” the technician said, moving the wand slowly. “Let’s see what we’ve got here...”
I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the grainy black and white image.
There! That was the head.
And there was the spine.
Everything looked normal.
Everything looked...
“Oh!” the technician said.
My heart stopped.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
