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“Hop on.” Dr. Jamil moved to the table and helped me into position.
Atlas stayed in his seat instead of joining me, like he was too weak to get up.
My belly was revealed, the lights were flicked off, and then the ultrasound began.
In silence, Dr. Jamil moved the probe over my stomach, searching for the fetus inside me. After a couple minutes, he found it, taking a couple pictures. “Here’s your baby.” He pointed at the screen. “You see this coloration and these lines?”
I stared, seeing it before he even pointed it out. “Yeah…”
“Looks like you’re about six weeks. Everything looks normal.”
Atlas stared at the floor.
I turned to look at him. “Atlas?”
He clenched his jaw slightly, like he wanted to have a blowup but wouldn’t do it in front of the doctor.
Dr. Jamil excused himself. “I’ll give you two a minute…” He peeled off his gloves and walked out.
Atlas stayed in his chair, eyes still on the floor.
“Come here,” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“Atlas…”
“I’ve done this before… I can’t do it again.” His eyes were coated with a film, angry tears behind his eyes.
“This time could be different—”
“What if it’s not?”
“Then you should still take a look with me.”
He gave a shake of his head.
“Atlas.”
When he blinked, a tear dropped and moved down his cheek.
“There’s a chance this will be different. And if it is, you’re going to regret staying in that chair.”
He leaned forward, his joined hands coming together at his mouth, and after a breath, he got to his feet and joined me. His hand moved to mine, and he stared at the screen.
“Right there…” I pointed at the screen.
He swallowed. “Yeah…I see him.”
21
Atlas
It was hard to be on my game like I was before.
Distracted.
Every time Daisy called me, I was afraid the phone would carry her sobs. She would deliver the bad news that I’d been dreading since the moment she’d told me she was pregnant. I prepared myself for it to make it easier, but I knew there was no amount of preparation that would make the loss less difficult.
None.
She was two and a half months along now. We spent that time focused on work, doing our walks together in the evenings, living normal lives. We didn’t buy baby clothes or diapers, and no one gifted us those things either.
Because they all knew.
I’d made that mistake before, and after the first time, my ex-wife and I never bought anything again.
“I just saw these orders in the same system.” Deacon sat in the chair beside me, holding a couple charts. “Why are you running these markers?”
I snapped back into the moment. Before that, I’d just been staring at the screen. “The inflammatory markers?”
“Yes.”
“Just want to check if they have those markers.”
“We already know none of them has an autoimmune disease.”
“Yeah, but I just want to see something.”
“Is this about the B cells?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Atlas, we need to move on from that. Insanity is repeating the same experiment twice and expecting different results. We need to keep looking—”
“I’m exploring every piece of data I come across. I’m not focused on this, but I have to see it through.”
He was a calm colleague most of the time, but whenever he felt like we were wasting time or doing the patients wrong, he got angry. He looked at the screen and released a sigh. “Fine. But if they’re negative, enough of this.”
“I’m looking into the other panels, and I have a few other ideas.”
“Then make it happen. Because every moment you waste on the wrong thing…is another patient we lose.”
Geez, way to lay it on me. “I promise you, I’m doing everything I possibly can.” I couldn’t get mad at him, not just because he was my father-in-law, not just because he was my boss, but because I knew his anger stemmed from a good place. He just cared. A lot.
He pulled the charts in front of him and made a few notes.
I ignored the tension the best I could.
“How’s Daisy doing?”
“Starting to show a bit.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah…” These next weeks would be the longest and shortest of my life. The closer the second trimester came, the more the deadline approached. She’d be hit with nausea that wasn’t morning sickness—and we’d know. Her body would struggle to process the miscarriage, and the pain and emotional turbulence would leave her in bed for days.
Deacon looked at me, his hostility gone. “So far, so good, right?”
I gave a nod.
“Any wedding plans?”
“Honestly, we haven’t even talked about it. All we’ve been focused on is…that.”
His hand went to my shoulder, and he gave me a squeeze. “You’ll know in a couple weeks.”
“Yeah.”
“She tells me you’re doing your best to be supportive, but she can see you struggle.”
“I’ve never been a good liar.”
“Then don’t lie. Believe.”
“You’ve never lost a child. You can’t make it sound so easy. Every time you went to your wife’s ultrasounds and saw that beating heart on the screen, it was a joyous moment…not a taunt. Not torture.”
