Page 25 of Worthy of Sunsets and Second Chances

“No, I’m not.” I level her with a look of horror.

“Yes, you most definitely are.” Dr. Howard holds up the results to me.

Waves of nausea roll through me, and I wonder if it’s the baby or the shock causing it.

“With your positive urine sample and when you told me your last period was, I’d say you’re probably about eight weeks,” she says carefully.

I gulp.

Eight weeks.

Tears well in my eyes and I want to be sick all over again.

Eight weeks ago Eli tore my heart out on the beach and left me bleeding out in the sand.

“Let’s do an ultrasound and take a little look and some measurements to confirm. Lay back.” She positions me, calls in the tech, shuts off the light, and wheels over the ultrasound machine. The ultrasound tech comes in and introduces herself, whips out a wand that looks like it should stay far away from me but instead goes straight up into my lady bits.

Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh

The rhythmic noise of my baby’s heartbeat swells within the room.

It is the most terrifying sound I have ever heard.

It is the most amazing sound I have ever heard.

I have never loved a sound as much as this.

“There it is,” Dr. Howard says, pointing to a tiny bean shape on the black-and-white screen.

“It looks like a jelly bean,” I say.

“It’s about that size too.” She smiles at me. “And we’re right on the money at the eight-week mark.”

The tech took lots of measurements, pictures, and printed me off a whole roll to keep. I also left with pamphlets, instructions, and a date for my next appointment.

Now, I am going to have to contact the last person on the planet I want to talk to. Tell a man that says he’s incapable of love that he’s about to be a father?

I already felt bad for my baby.

I would tell him soon. Today, I am just going to let it be about us.

Me and my little jelly bean.

I wake up in the middle of the night, sharp, painful cramps gripping my abdomen.

Ugh. Maybe the chicken I had in my dinner was bad?

Sitting up in bed, the pain intensifies, and I feel a slickness between my legs. Clicking on the nightstand light, I pull back my bedding and let out a scream.

Blood. A pool of blood on my bedsheets.

The baby.

Oh my God, no.

My jelly bean.

I quickly clean myself up, change my clothes, put an extra-large pad in my underwear, grab my phone, bag, and rush out of my tiny apartment. Hospital now, is all I can think.