Page 81 of Dissonance

I settle back, the cold gel making me gasp. Lockie takes his position, the protective instinct in him standing between me and the door.

“So at twenty weeks, we’re doing what’s called the anatomy scan,” she says, moving the probe slowly. “We’re checking measurements, all the major organs, position.” She clicks a button, and the image sharpens. “There we go. See that? A perfect profile shot.”

My throat tightens as the shape of a nose, a forehead, and a tiny fist curled near a face comes into view.

“Would you like to find out the sex today?”

I glance at Lockie. We haven’t discussed it. But between the flutter on the side of the road and everything leading up to now, I sort of want to know. I think I’ve wanted to for a while.

“Aye, please,” Lockie says, answering for me.

The tech nods and moves the wand. “Well, she’s measuring right on track.”

She.

A girl.

“Good strong heartbeat, spine looks lovely, and here’s her little butt.” She works methodically, and I watch every shift of the screen, wanting to memorize everything about my baby daughter.

Lockie’s moved forward. I didn’t notice him do it, but he’s beside me now, his hand slipping into mine, unable to look away from the monitor.

“I’ll give you a moment and let Dr. Bryan know you’re ready,” the tech says, pausing the screen and disappearing outside.

Neither of us speaks as the image of her floats there, entirely real, one arm raised like she’s waving.

“A girl,” I say, the word a whisper, testing it, feeling the shape of it on my tongue.

I look up at him still staring at the screen, the same look of awe I saw in the car. His eyes move to mine, and still, he’s silent, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, saying everything his voice won’t. We stay like that, the two of us and her, until the door opens, and Dr. Bryan walks in.

“Congratulations on your girl,” she says, pulling the stool forward. “Now, I want to talk about your vitals, Thea.” She taps her tablet, reads, then lays it on her knee, linking her fingers together on top of it. “Your blood pressure’s not where I’d like to see it at this stage.”

Lockie’s hand tightens around mine.

“It’s below what we formally classify as hypertension, but it’s significantly higher than your last visit, and in pregnancy, I don’t wait for numbers to cross a line before I act.” She reaches for the cuff. “Let’s check it again.”

The machine whirls to life, the strap tightening around my bicep. As she reads it, her expression stays measured, but I’ve spent my whole career reading people, and I can see what she’s not saying. Beside me, Lockie straightens, noticing the same thing I do.

“Okay.” She unstraps me and sets it aside. “What I’m seeing is the beginning of gestational hypertension.”

“What’s that?” he asks before she can continue.

She looks at him, then at me. “It means your blood pressure is elevated.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I say, nerves expanding as my hand goes to my bump.

“It’s not something to ignore,” she agrees. “If your blood pressure continues to rise, and with what I know about your job, it’s likely it will, we move into preeclampsia territory.”

“Which is?” I ask, even though some part of me doesn’t want to know.

“Serious. It can affect your kidneys, your liver, the blood supply to the placenta. In severe cases, it means early delivery.”

The air goes out of me, my lungs constricting, a cold wave moving through my chest. Lockie’s free hand comes to my arm, anchoring me without a word.

“You’re not there yet,” Dr. Bryan adds, her voice steady in that way that’s meant to be reassuring. “But you’re heading in that direction, and I’m telling you now before you get there.”

Ten minutes ago, we were finding out we’re having a girl, memorizing the shape of her, unable to stop smiling. Now I’m being told she might not make it to term, and it’s because of me. Because of the hours and the stress and the emails I answer at midnight.

“How’s your sleep?” she asks.