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Santos sits on a chair as I lay on the table and stare up at the ceiling, my mind not quite processing that this is happening. That I’m here in this office, on this table. That I’m pregnant.
The probe is uncomfortable and Dr. Moore senses it.
“It’s cold, I know, honey,” she says lightly. “There we go.” She turns the monitor toward us. I don’t look at it yet, but Santos watches intently. I just listen to the strange echo-like sound. She describes things to Santos, who asks questions while I keep staring up at the ceiling.
Then something happens that has me bite the inside of my cheek as I listen.
The echoing sound changes. Dr. Moore says something, but I don’t hear what it is. I’m hearing something else.
A heartbeat.
I feel a tear slide down my temple, and Santos takes my hand, squeezes it.
“Their hearts beat fast, like they’re running a race,” Dr. Moore is saying. “Everything looks good with your baby.”
Our baby.
“It’s too early to tell the sex just yet, if you wanted to know that, but I’d say you’re almost seven weeks along. I’ll print a few pictures for you,” she says, removing the probe. “Come on into my office once you’re dressed, Madelena.”
“Thanks,” I say, and wait until they both leave to sit up and look at the screen. At the little blob frozen there that definitely doesn’t look human just yet. I touch my stomach. It’s a little rounder than usual but probably more bloating than anything else. It’s too early for me to be showing.
I am certain of one thing as I get up and get dressed again. I know I won’t terminate this pregnancy. I can’t do that. I don’t know why, and I have no judgment for any woman who chooses that path, but I know I can’t.
Before leaving that room, I splash a little water onto my face then straighten and steel my spine. I look the same, although I’m wearing less makeup. I haven’t had the energy. And maybe I’m a little paler. But the same mostly. I close my hand over my stomach and look down.
“Poor you,” I tell her. She’s a her for some reason. Then I walk out of the examination room and into Dr. Moore’s office, where Santos is looking at each of the pictures the doctor has printed. He is in awe. I watch him for a minute, see how lines appear around his eyes as he smiles and asks questions, pointing at things on the small speck that is our baby. He’ll make a good dad, I think. Good enough to make up for me as a mom.
* * *
That night Santos’smother is hosting a dinner at Augustine’s. There’s a part of me that wants to crawl into bed and hide from that woman, but there’s another part, the stronger, rebellious one, that wants to show her she hasn’t won.
Santos has told me it’s up to me if I join him or not, but he will be there. He doesn’t seem happy about it, though.
We haven’t talked about the ultrasound, but I find him watching me anxiously at times. I should tell him I don’t want to end the pregnancy. I know he wants to keep the baby, too, and I also know if I decided to terminate, he would support me. There’s something keeping me from talking about it though, and it’s not to punish him or anything like that. I just can’t seem to open my mouth about it yet.
“You’re going to come tonight?” Santos asks when he walks into the bedroom to find me getting dressed.
“Yep,” I say, looking at myself in profile in the full-length mirror. “I can’t hide forever.” I face him. “Besides, I don’t want her to think she holds any power over me. She doesn’t.”
Santos is watchful. “Are you sure?” he asks after a minute. “It’s early yet. If you need time to process, you have it. As much as you need.”
I take a deep breath in and exhale it out. “I’m fine.”
“All right. I’m glad you’ll be there. And we can come home whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
Santos slips his arm around me seemingly even more careful with me now than he’s always been—and he has always been careful. From the first moment we met, when he asked for forgiveness before doing what he had to do, he’s always taken care with me.
I lean into him. We drive together to the event with Val and another soldier following in a second vehicle.
The event itself is a charity for children in war-torn countries, which Mrs. Augustine apparently feels passionately about. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. The only thing that woman has any feelings for is herself, and maybe Caius. Santos? I’m not so sure.
I’m glad the ballroom is full of people though, and when Santos discreetly hands me a flute of sparkling water, I take it and stand at his side as he makes conversation with all those waiting to talk to him. He’s a fixture now, an important man to the people of Avarice. I know he’s making his way toward his mother, though, who is holding court in the far corner. I can see she’s anticipating his arrival, too. I wonder if she’s anxious about it. If she’s afraid of him.
The Avery family is also here, and strangely, I find I don’t much care. Not about them. Not about Mrs. Augustine. Not any of it. Because that’s one thing this unplanned pregnancy has done, and I don’t think it was Evelyn Augustine’s intention. It’s shifted my priorities. It’s brought me back to myself in a way.
“Excuse me,” I say. Santos pauses mid-sentence and looks at me, eyebrows raised. I nod to tell him I’m okay, and he lets me slip away. I feel his eyes on my back as I cross the room even as I hear him pick up his conversation.
