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Guilt gnaws at me at the sight of hurt in his face before he masks it. “No,” he sighed. “I won’t pretend we don’t have plans and that by choosing Samantha, the boys have fucked them up.”
An invisible dagger slices through my heart, right to the core of me, at the mention of that goddamn day. I’ve spent weeks replaying every situation. . . every moment spent with them, analyzed. How could I have been so fucking blind?
Sensing the change, my dad curses, recognizing his mistake immediately. “Dammit, Ry. I’m sorry. I feel like a goddamn broken record, but I don’t think I have the right words.”
A light knock at the door reminds me that we’re still at Dr. Jaffri’s office, and I need to finish this appointment. “Miss Bradford. The doctor sent me to check on you,” the receptionist’s voice sounds through the door.
“We can talk more later. Let’s get you seen,” Dad says, coaxing me from the stall.
Once my mouth is rinsed and I have a piece of gum, I’m brought to the examining room. An ultrasound machine sits next to the exam table. I climb up and wait while my father sits in one of the chairs. Our eyes connect, and I mouth ‘thank you’ as Dr. Jaffri walks in.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Much better, thanks,” I reply as she begins her initial examination.
“I know this is overwhelming, but it’s going to be important for you and the baby’s health that you manage your stress. Has the sleep aid I prescribed you been helping?”
Sucking air through my nose, I take a deep breath as she listens to my lungs before responding, “Yes. I’ve been sleeping so soundly that someone could creep in my window and sleep next to me, and I wouldn’t notice.”
A choking sound turns our gazes in my father’s direction, and he’s five shades redder than he was when we first arrived.
“Are you alright?” Dr. Jaffri inquires, stepping in his direction.
He holds his hands up, halting her. “I’ll be okay. I just choked on spit,” Dad wheezes.
Dr. Jaffri guides me down on the table, instructing me to lift my shirt before she turns on the ultrasound machine and washes her hands.
I watch with interest as she applies gel to the probe and then places it against my abdomen. She points to the monitor, and at the same time, a whooshing sound fills the room, followed by what can only be described as the galloping of hoofs. “This is Baby Bradford,” she announces.
My eyes lock on my baby. Perfection. Even at this stage, utter perfection. Did I want to be a teenage mother? Fuck no! But this is?—
A gasp interrupts my thoughts. “Well, this is unexpected,” Dr. Jaffri mumbles loud enough for me to hear.
“Is everything okay, Janan?” My dad jumps from his spot in the corner, reaching my side before Dr. Jaffri can respond. If I weren’t so concerned with what she’s seeing, I’d have questions about their familiarity.
“There are two heartbeats,” Dr. Jaffri says almost inaudibly.
Did this bitch just say two?
“As in, the baby’s heart is beating twice, or are two total?” I screech out. My earlier panic returns a hundredfold.
Clearing her throat, she replies, “Twins.”
Once the oxygen returns to my brain, I shout, “Which super sperm motherfucker did this to me?”
As the last of my memory from that day fades, something Samantha said in the cafe sparks into awareness.
‘You stupid bitch. How the fuck did you get pregnant? It was supposed to be me.’
She wanted to get pregnant. So, how did it end up being me instead? Did that cunt plan something, and the doctor screwed up?
Picking my phone up, I dial Dad.
“Hey, Ry. Everything good?” he greets.
Too focused on this new information, and I get directly to the point. “We need to find the doctor that put in the implants. She either made a mistake or didn’t implant me on purpose.”
13
