Page 116 of Say My Name

“No.”

Elena looks at the notebook. “You had that possibility written down, didn’t you?”

“I had it listed for discussion.”

“Under which intimidation tab?”

“Stress.”

She shakes her head, amused, but hope softens her expression.

Every time I say “we,” her composure slips.

Maybe because she still expects me to treat this as her plan that I agreed to support. Her pregnancy. Her timeline. Her future, with my involvement reduced to the terms we negotiated.

Except I haven’t thought of it that way in months.

“What about travel?” I ask. “If one of us will be away during the likely window, should we adjust the trip or the timing?”

“We can move things,” Elena says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I look at her. The word hangs in the air between us, a shared thing. “Yes, we can.”

Her fingers tighten around each other in her lap.

The doctor explains that consistency matters more than chasing one precise hour, then walks us through the tracking information again. I listen and write, mapping out contingencies: what happens if the next cycle is unsuccessful? Then the one after that. At what point do we return? What changes would prompt additional intervention? Is there anything we should be doing now that will make later decisions easier?

Elena watches me through most of it.

She asks questions too, practical and specific, but her attention keeps returning to my hand moving across the page.

By the time the doctor closes the file, I have three pages of notes and a follow-up plan.

“You’re doing everything you should be doing.” The doctor closes the file. “Give yourselves another couple of cycles with the increased frequency. If you still haven’t had a positive test, we’ll reassess together.”

Together.

I keep thinking about the word after the doctor leaves.

Elena reaches for her bag, then stops. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You could have asked the questions without preparing for the appointment like an acquisition review.”

“I don’t enter important meetings unprepared.” It’s the only way I know how to control the outcome. The only way I know how to protect what matters.

Her gaze lifts to mine. “Important?”

I close the notebook. “Very.”

For a second, neither of us moves.

The office around us is aggressively ordinary. Neutral walls. Framed credentials. A plastic anatomical model on the counter. There is nothing here that should make the future feel close enough to touch.

Yet I can see it.

Another appointment with Elena beside me. A positive test. An ultrasound. Her hand in mine while we wait to hear that everything is okay. A child with her eyes and her stubbornness. Mornings, birthdays, sick nights, school drop-offs, arguments, laughter, and years of ordinary days that would be more valuable than anything I have built.