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The doctor glances at Maggie for permission. Maggie nods.

The machine hums to life. The first image on the screen is a grainy, shadowed image that means nothing to me at first. The doctor adjusts the probe, and Maggie’s hand clenches around mine. I lower my mouth to her hair and breathe in smoke, antiseptic, and the faint scent of her shampoo beneath it all.

Then a shape comes into view. Small. Fragile. Impossible.

Real.

The doctor smiles. “There’s your baby.”

Maggie holds her breath. I feel it in the way her hand stills inside mine. Then a sound fills the room, rapid and strong, echoing through the quiet space.

Our baby's heartbeat.

I stare at the monitor without moving. I’ve seen violence, death, betrayal, and every brutal truth men try to hide from themselves. Nothing has ever struck me like that sound.

Maggie begins to cry. Her free hand moves to her mouth while tears slide into her hairline.

“The baby?” she asks.

“Heartbeat looks good,” the doctor says. “Size appears appropriate for early pregnancy. We’ll continue monitoring you because of the smoke inhalation, but right now, this looks reassuring.”

Reassuring.

The word is too small for what happens inside my chest.

I bend and kiss Maggie’s forehead, staying there longer than I mean to. Her hand rises to my jaw, her fingers trembling against my skin.

“Our baby,” she whispers.

“Yes,” I answer, my voice low. “Our baby.”

From the next bay, Jules sniffles loudly. “Well, that’s just unfair.”

Maggie laughs through tears. “What is?”

“I almost die in a burning building, and now I have to pretend I’m not cryin’ over a tiny blurry bean on a screen.” He winces as he repositions himself on the hospital bed, then looks toward me with more sincerity than I’ve ever seen from him.

Jules clears his throat. “Thank you for saving us. I would say something deeply heartfelt, but I’m medicated and emotionally fragile, so please accept this limited edition vulnerability while supplies last.”

Maggie lets out a wet laugh.

I hold Jules’s gaze. “You’re family.”

For once, he has no immediate response. Then he blinks hard and looks back toward the monitor. “Well. That was rude. Now I’m definitely crying.”

Maggie squeezes my hand.

Jules points weakly toward the screen, his voice rough with smoke and emotion. “I can’t wait to be the world’s most fabulous uncle.”

Maggie cries harder, and this time she’s smiling.

I look at the tiny shape on the monitor, then at the woman in the bed beside me, alive and carrying my child. Beyond the hospital walls, the shelter burns, an enemy hides behind names and money, and war waits for me to answer.

But for this one moment, I let myself hold on to what survived.

13

MAGGIE