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“No,” I say. “I had a blood test done, though and the results said I had high levels of hCG.”
“Ah, I see. Well, we’ll find out for sure in a few minutes,” he says. He takes a gown from one of the closets in the room and hands it to me. “I’m going to go over to the adjoining room. Please change into this gown and get on the examination table. You can hang your clothes on the hook right here. Press the little button on the side of the table when you’re finished.”
Then he disappears through one of the doors. There are three in total, and as I strip out of my clothes and change into the flimsy teal gown, I wonder where they could lead. When I’m settled on the table, I press the button.
I’m staring up at the ceiling when Dr. Khatri returns, wheeling an ultrasound machine with him. I’m just now realizing how cold it is in here, thanks to my current clothing situation. The look on his face is all business as he snaps on his gloves and sets the machine up.
My heart is in my throat. I’ve been to the gynecologist once before—while I was a teenager because of my irregular but heavy periods—so I’m not exactly scared of what he’s about to do.
In the next few minutes, Dr. Khatri is going to tell me if I’m pregnant or not.
My entire life is going to be defined by what shows up on the screen beside us. My hands shake so I clasp them over my middle, sinking my teeth into my lips to stop them from chattering.
No matter what happens, everything will be fine.
I desperately want to believe that.
He applies some jelly to my stomach. It’s cold and wet, and as I watch him start the ultrasound, my heart is in my throat.
“Ah, there we go,” the doctor says a couple minutes later, directing my attention to the screen beside us. “It looks like we have…”
I can’t make out anything on the screen. He drags his finger to a spot that looks like a mess of squiggly lines to me. “There’s a heartbeat.”
“Heartbeat?” I focus my eyes on where his finger is.
Slowly, I make out the pieces of anatomy. And he’s right, there’s a tiny pulse on the screen. It’s so small–too small for me to even make out anything. It looks more like a prune than a person. But it’s a baby alright.
My baby.Ourbaby.
Fuck.
Dr. Khatri continues. “I would say you’re around ten weeks along,” he says, with a smile. But when his eyes finally leave the screen and meet mine, his smile falls. “Is everything okay?”
I swallow thickly, blinking away the water gathered in the corners of my eyes. Why does this all feel so emotional? It’s confirmation.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just need a while to think it over. It’s a big change.”
He seems understanding. “Of course. Becoming parents as young as you two are is a lot to adjust to,” he says. “A baby is always a good thing, though. Especially if you end up having a son. Alexander will be happy to know that—”
“Please don’t tell him.”
Dr. Khatri raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“I want to be the one to tell him,” I say. “I want him to hear it from me first.”
The alarm disappears from his features.
It’s not an unfair request, is it? Alexander is already going to be pissed that I snuck away from him to find this out. The last thing I need is him finding out this important news from someone else.
“Of course,” the doctor says. “I won’t say a word.”
He wraps up our appointment by taking my vitals and ensuring both me and the baby are healthy. Dr. Khatri also gives me a copy of the scan that I stow away in my purse for safe keeping. I’m going to bury it at the bottom of my suitcase as soon as I get back.
It feels surreal. I’m going to be a mother.
I’ve managed to wrangle my emotions by the time I make it back to Wesley in the waiting room. But all my composure dissipates when I see his face. He looks beyond worried, scared even.
My heart falls.
