Thump. Thump-thump.
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s fast. Insistent. Alive.
The air seems to thicken around us, like the room itself has taken a breath and forgotten to let it out.
“That’s the heartbeat,” the technician says.
The word lands slowly. Not all at once. Heartbeat.
I stare at the screen, at the flickering shape I don’t understand yet, my brain scrambling to catch up with what my chest already knows.
That sound isn’t background noise. It isn’t medical equipment doing its job. It’s a someone.
Roxy inhales sharply. Her fingers curl into the sheet beneath her, knuckles whitening.
I don’t realize I’ve stepped closer until I feel the heat of her skin, until my hand is hovering uselessly near her hip. Not touching, because I don’t know if I’m allowed to anymore.
The sound continues. Steady now. Confident.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Our eyes meet, and something breaks open between us.
Her eyes are glossy, stunned, stripped bare of defiance or fear or strategy. And at least for this monumental moment, which I will never forget for the rest of my life, there’s no accusation in her gaze.
Just the same realization crashing through both of us.
This isn’t hypothetical. This isn’t leverage or circumstance or fallout. This is happening.
I swallow hard. My throat burns.
I have dismantled hostile takeovers, stared down men twice my size, burned bridges without blinking, but this sound reduces me to something terrifyingly simple.
Present.
The technician keeps talking, but her voice fadesinto static. All I hear is that rhythm. That relentless proof.
Roxy exhales, shaky. “Oh. Nine weeks?”
Nine weeks… That would mean her one-night stand with Romeo resulted in this.
She sounds disappointed. Or confused. Or something.
In her mind, she doesn’t know the father.
I want to send the technician away so I can provide some clarity. I know the truth. I just need to tell her.
Instead, I let my hand settle against the edge of the bed, close enough that if she reaches, I’ll be there.
The heartbeat fills the room.
“But everything is okay?” Roxy asks.
“Yes. At this stage, you’ll need to book your first appointment with your obstetrician. Start taking prenatal vitamins. I will ask the nurse to include some leaflets in your discharge papers. But for now, everything looks great.”
The technician leaves, and Roxy closes her eyes. “Please, let me think. Don’t talk.”
