Page 61 of Three Months Yesterday

“Um…” I swallow, keeping my attention on the doctor and not on the man on my other side. “I don’t know. I haven’t—I haven’t been with anyone since early August.”

The doctor’s eyes widen slightly at the news, but he pivots quickly, his eyes falling to the tablet in his hand. “And you didn’t know you were pregnant before today?”

“Correct.”

He scrolls for a second before looking back at me. “Are you on birth control?”

“I was getting the shot, but I stopped when my boyfriend and I broke up over the summer.”

The doctor nods, understanding crossing his features. “Well, considering how far along you are, we won’t need to do the transvaginal ultrasound like I assumed.”

He turns back to the machine, and I finally let my gaze shift back to Beckett. He hasn’t moved or said anything, his thumb still gently soothing circles on the back of my hand. There’s still no judgment in his eyes as he looks at me, and I don’t know how he’s still sitting there, but I’m grateful for it all the same.

“I’m gonna have you lie back,” Dr. Dupont says, lowering the head of the bed. “And I’ll have you lift your gown so I can reach your lower abdomen.”

I obey, pulling the gown up to just under my breasts, my lower half still covered by the hospital blanket. The cool air of the room tickles my exposed skin and a shiver runs up my spine.

I don’t even have a moment to adjust before Dr. Dupont squeezes gel onto my skin, making me gasp at the shock of cold. But then the wand is moving, pressing gently against my lower abdomen. The room is quiet for only a moment before the sound of a heartbeat fills the space. It’s fast and strong and impossibly real.

“There we are,” Dr. Dupont says, his voice filled with warmth as he turns the screen for me to see.

There’s no need for the doctor to point out anything on the screen. The image of a baby is as clear as can be. The head, the arms, the hands, the legs, the feet. It’s all right there, easy to identify.

Beckett’s grip on my hand tightens, and I turn to find him watching the monitor with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s wonder, but maybe sorrow too. Or something in between the two.

“Everything looks good,” Dr. Dupont announces, pulling my attention back to him. “Strong heartbeat, good movement. No signs of trauma from the fall.” His gaze meets mine and he offers a comforting smile before looking back at the screen. “Based on the measurements I’d say you’re on track for about eighteen weeks. Do you want to know the sex?”

I open my mouth to say no. I’ve always said if I ever got pregnant I wanted the sex to be a surprise. But considering the pregnancy itself was a surprise and I’m almost five months along, I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Tell me.”

Dr. Dupont shifts the wand a bit, studying the screen, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight. From the small life I’ve been carrying without knowing. Something shifts in my chest. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, but I know it’s love all the same.

“You’re having a boy.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with a meaning I can’t yet comprehend.

A boy. I’m having a son.

My eyes stay glued to the screen watching as the baby shifts, and I swear I can feel him.

Dr. Dupont presses a few buttons on the machine and then lifts the wand from my stomach before wiping the gel away. His movements are practiced and efficient. “I’ll print a few copies for you. Given the fall and the concussion, I’d like you to take it easy for the next few days—no strenuous activity and plenty of rest. But the baby is healthy, Ms. Hawthorne.”

I nod, not entirely focused on what the doctor is saying, my attention still stuck on the image of my son frozen on the screen.

“You’ll need to find an OB and get an appointment scheduled as soon as possible. Everything looks good,” he rushes to say at my raised eyebrows. “You just want to make sure you’ve got someone on your team you’re comfortable with and who’s there to answer all the questions you’re going to have.”

I nod in acknowledgement and with a soft beep of the machine the image of my baby disappears from sight.

The doctor wheels the cart away, leaving me with a photo in my hand—my son, captured in black and white, already more real than anything I could ever imagine.

Beckett doesn’t speak. He simply sits beside me, his hand still clasped around mine. His presence a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts.

I should send him away. Tell him that whatever this is between us can’t continue. That there’s so much for me to figure out, to prepare for. Too many responsibilities already without adding a new relationship built on sand and wishful thinking.

But none of that comes out. Instead, I ask him to stay, just a little bit longer.

And he doesn’t hesitate to say yes.