Grabbing my mocktail, I took a healthy swallow, wishing it was the real thing. I didn’t mention my upcoming maternity leave to Emma. We’d have to cross that bridge later.
She nodded and made a note. “Perfect. When will you be ready for your first weekend? I want to update the class schedule ASAP and email the girls.”
“How about next month? That’s only a few weeks away and it’ll give us time to plan.”
“Love it. Everyone’s been asking about you. They miss your classes. And you.”
My heart tugged with the memory of how much I enjoyed teaching those classes, and of course, working one-on-one with the women. I got just as much from them as they did from me. I couldn’t wait to get back at it.
* * *
One more goodthing about being back in Chicago was that I could see my OB/GYN and get my medical files to bring to my new doctor in New York. Thankfully, when I called, my obstetrician was able to squeeze me in for a final appointment at the same time.
Once I got into the exam room, I changed into a gown and lay down on the crunchy white paper covering the examination table. I stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding with nerves as I waited for my doctor to come in.
“How are you feeling, Mara?” she asked once she came in with my chart. “How’s the pregnancy been going?”
It was a relief to be able to talk to someone about it.
“It’s going okay, for the most part,” I said. “But I’ve had a lot of morning sickness that makes it hard to get to work on time. I expected it, but I didn’t realize it would be so bad.”
“If you want, I can write you a prescription for an anti-nausea medicine.”
“It won’t hurt the baby?” I asked.
“No, not at all. But if you’re concerned, you can stick to natural remedies. Ginger tea, mint, lemon water. I’ve also had patients do really well on a regimen of B6 vitamins. It’s 25mg, three times a day, and you can get it at any pharmacy.”
I made a mental note of my doctor’s suggestions, knowing I’d place an online order for all of the above before I flew back to New York.
“I know it seems overwhelming now,” my doctor was saying. “But once you get into the second trimester, the nausea usually goes away and you’ll feel better. A lot of my patients say their second trimester is the best.”
It was a relief to hear.
“Shall we check on baby’s heartbeat?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.
I’d been through a lot over the past two days. Not only was I experiencing a whirlwind of emotions after reuniting with my family and meeting my new niece, but I’d also been thrown off guard by the arrival of my own baby daddy. I hadn’t heard from Ford since he’d left the hospital. Stefan had been surprisingly kind in asking my ex to leave, and Ford had complied, looking a little wistful on his way out. It had tugged at me, but I’d had to let him walk away.
The doctor brought in a young technician, and after having gel smeared over my belly, the tech put the transducer on my abdomen and began the ultrasound. I could see a fuzzy black-and-white image on the computer screen, a dark area in the middle where the baby was growing, and to the side, the rate and pattern of its heartbeat. My baby’s heartbeat.
“This is your baby,” the tech said with a smile, pointing at a curved white blob on the screen. “We’re picking up about a hundred thirty-two beats per minute.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s very strong,” my doctor reassured me. “A very good heartbeat.”
As I looked at the little bean, I started crying. I was happy, but at the same time it was sad and lonely seeing the baby on the monitor without Ford at my side. It was heartbreaking. The only thing that made me feel better about our breakup was that I’d have his child. Our child. The baby would always be my connection to him, even if I was the only one who knew it.
Of course, I had a fair amount of guilt about keeping the news from him, but I didn’t have any other choice. I had to do this for my family. There was no other way. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
When the checkup was over, the doctor and the tech left me alone to get dressed. My mind was racing. As I put my clothes back on, I couldn’t help wondering if I was making the right decision. Was depriving my child of their father really the best thing for my family? It felt like this was another moment—in a long line of moments throughout my life—where I was grappling with the choice to do the Zoric thing, or the right thing.
I walked out of the doctor’s office in a haze of confusion and inner turmoil. Collapsing onto a bench outside, it took me a moment to realize that someone was coming toward me.
It was Ford. He’d followed me. And he looked worried.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
