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“So nothing’s cooking in her oven?” Soren drawls, his tone harsh, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Guys, I’m not lying. I took at least ten tests at home. All positive,” I defend myself, feeling cornered, a wild animal ready to bare teeth.
“Then explain this,” Mickey waves a hand at the negative result, his frustration palpable.
“Maybe she screwed up the test,” Soren suggests, but there’s no real conviction in his voice.
“Right, because peeing on a stick requires a PhD,” I snap back, rolling my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I hold out my hand. “Give me my phone.”
I don’t know if it’s something in my voice or if Mickey is too stunned, either way, he pulls it out of his pocket without a word. Dr. Patel asks me a few questions; why I thought I was pregnant is just one of them. But I tune her out as I scroll through the photo app on my phone.
“Here!” I say, showing her the screen as soon as I find what I’m looking for. “Feel free to scroll. There are at least fifty pictures and some videos.”
My eyes are glued to the doctor as she scrolls, her brows furrowed.
“What is it?” Mickey asks.
“Shouldn’t we all be able to see it?” Soren chimes in, earning an eye roll from yours truly.
“If I’d had time to prepare, I could have brought the cable and hooked my gallery up to her computer,” I quip while gesturing at the sleek, silver laptop on the table.
Without asking permission, Dr. Patel retrieves a USB cable from one of the desk drawers, using it to connect my phone to the laptop. Then she spins the device around so Mickey, Soren, and I can watch the fascinating show, which is basically like a weird ass collection of sticks I’ve peed on. Yeah, I’ve taken pictures of every single one, including the box.
“This is highly unusual,” Dr. Patel says, no longer sounding cold and indifferent. “Are these all different brands as well?”
I shrug. “Some of them.”
“Can you tell me more about the circumstances around taking these tests?” she asks.
I recount the details, trying to keep my voice steady. Mickey and Soren loom on either side of me, a united front of muscle and barely restrained impatience. I can feel the heat radiating off them, their combined energy nearly suffocating. But underneath that, there’s a current of something else—concern, maybe even fear.
Dr. Patel drops the test into the garbage before removing the gloves and washing her hands. When she returns to the desk, she picks up a pen, tapping it against the wood. “There could be a number of reasons for the discrepancy. Stress, hormonal imbalances, or even a faulty batch of home tests.”
“Faulty batch?” Soren repeats skeptically. “Even when it’s so many different ones?”
“Or maybe the problem is with your damn test,” Mickey adds, his face hardening. “Explain to me how one test can be negative and the rest positive?” His voice is a low growl laced with frustration and confusion.
The doctor pinches the bridge of her nose. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Davis,” she says, addressing Mickey directly. “But after seeing these pictures… I need to do an ultrasound.”
I barely register moving as Dr. Patel nudges me toward the examination table, telling me to lie down and bare my stomach. The paper sheet crinkles under me, and as Mickey and Soren close in around me, I feel like a damn offering.
Dr. Patel’s brows are furrowed as she moves to wheel over the ultrasound machine. “Let’s take a look inside and see what we’re dealing with,” she says. I gasp when she applies cold gel to my exposed stomach. “Try to relax. We’ll know what’s going on soon enough.”
I want to tell her that I already know, because Fet is real.
The hum of the machine fills the room as Dr. Patel presses the transducer to my skin. My breath catches, my eyes fixed on the screen, searching for something—anything—that looks like my Fet.
And there it is. A tiny flicker, a heartbeat, a surge of life in the midst of all this madness. Tears well up, blurring my vision, a mix of relief and terror flooding through me.
“Fet,” I whisper, emotions clogging my throat. “There you are, Fet. And you’re so beautiful.” Until this very moment, I didn’t know a blob could be beautiful, but mine is—Fet is.
I’m so absorbed in what I’m seeing that I barely register both guys asking who the hell Fet is, but I don’t owe them any explanation or answers, so I say nothing.
Dr. Patel’s head tilts slightly, and her expression shifts to one of puzzlement. “You’re definitely pregnant. There’s a strong heartbeat, but…” Her fingers fly across the keyboard, taking measurements.
“Is everything okay?” My heart drops into my stomach, threatening to spill out my fear in sobs.
“It’s not twins, is it?” Soren asks, and there’s a hint of sadness in his tone.
