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“I’m late to this one,” I acknowledge as I stride over to her, “but I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Whatever anger Daphne may have felt at my intrusion vanishes. In its place is disbelief.
Who are you? I wonder. What’s been done to you?
The nurse checks her clipboard for the eightieth time and shrugs. “Sounds good to me. Shall we take a look?”
I step aside enough to give her plenty of room to squirt the jelly on Daphne’s stomach, but I plant a hand on Daphne’s shoulders so she knows I mean what I say. She stiffens but says nothing, though she steals a few uncertain glances up at me whenever she thinks I might not be looking at her.
How could I not look at her? She’s beautiful. And she’s carrying my child.
“There we go.”
A sound fills the room. Low at first, then louder and louder as the nurse moves a paddle over Daphne’s jelly-covered stomach. A screen in front of us glows with a bluish-green hue as pixels struggle to fit together.
Until they do.
And then shapes form. A head. A face. Fingers.
“Is that…?” I can’t form any more words. My mouth is too dry. My lungs have stopped working altogether.
“What you’re hearing is your baby’s heartbeat,” the nurse explains. “And this, on the screen? This is your baby.”
My baby.
Our baby.
I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime. I’ve experienced far more than most do by the time they’re thirty. I’ve lost family and friends, seen good men die and worse men laugh over their corpses.
But nothing has ever brought me to my knees.
Nothing like this.
My baby.
“Are you… gonna… say something?”
Daphne’s muttered voice pulls me back and reminds me that I’m supposed to be a man with his shit together. I nod. “Looks good,” I croak.
Daphne smiles tightly at the nurse. “Can we get a color printout?”
The nurse forms a tight smile and shakes her head. “Sorry. That tech isn’t in our budget yet. I can grab you black and white, of course.”
“We’ll take it,” Daphne says. She shoots me a warning glance as if I was about to say something to embarrass her.
Which I was. This place is deplorable. It’s the twenty-first century and they can’t afford a color printer? Or a decent paint job? The wall is chipping in one corner and I’m pretty sure that’s black mold in the ceiling tiles.
Daphne deserves a better doctor.
She needs a better doctor.
“Next time,” I growl in her ear when the nurse moves into the adjoining room, “we’re going to my doctor.”
“It’s cute you think there’s going to be a ‘next time,’” Daphne hisses back.
I look at her. My blood runs cold. “Explain yourself.”
“You got lucky figuring out where I was.” She adjusts herself on the table and nudges away from my touch. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you here.”
