Page 29 of Everything But Mine

I feel Eric’s gaze, steady and expectant, daring me to correct her. My skin prickles. Partner. The word lands with a thud. I could deny it, laugh it off, but what would that even sound like? He’s not my partner, but he’s just a friend. He’s… here. Maybe it was a mistake to have him here in the first place.

“Yes. That’s fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s easier this way.

Lina nods, scribbling something in the chart. “Great.”

Dr. Matthews adds, “Let’s get started. Just as we expected, the pregnancy test came back positive.”

Her words land with a strange weight. I already knew, of course. The cheap plastic test I took showed me that much. But hearing it confirmed by someone in a white coat makes it feel… irreversible. I am going to have to tell Daray about it.

Dr. Matthews pauses, her gaze flickering from my face to Eric’s. My stomach twists, wondering if she’s noting how I’m not beaming, not crying, not glowing. I’m just holding myself together, trying not to betray that I’m falling apart. I square my shoulders tightly.

And then there’s Eric. His hands are clasped too rigidly, his spine ramrod still. It’s that brand of restraint that Eric wears when he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do—or worse, when he’s afraid to let anything slip.

He must slip, because he stands up and closes the distance between us. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze. His touch is an offer I would have reached out for without a second thought long ago. I let the moment settle and allow myself to pretend this means nothing more than comfort.

Lina, of all people, breaks the tension, a bright smile on her face. Like this is what she chose medicine for. “Congratulations! Let’s get you and Dad some information on next steps.”

Dad.

The word slams into me, louder than it should be. Eric shifts, his grip on my shoulder tightening just enough for me to feel it. The word hangs between us, too loud, too certain. I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but close.

He doesn’t correct her. Instead, he leans closer to me, his lips brushing against my temple, but I feel them deep in my chest.

Dr. Matthews breaks the tension, her tone professional but kind. “At this stage, we’ll confirm the due date with a quick ultrasound. This will give us a better idea of what options to discuss with you.” She is staring straight at me, telling me without telling me that it’s my choice, and my choice only. “No assumptions. Just support.”

It’s a reminder to Lina—and maybe to us—that assumptions have no place here. It’s a reminder that I’m calling the shots here. I wasn’t sure I needed it until now. I know not every woman has this, and I am filled with an incredible wave of affection toward my doctor.

Lina doesn’t fucking get it because she obliviously pushes through. “Would you like Dad to stay for the ultrasound?”

My eyes find Eric’s. There’s something in his eyes. Still, he gives a slight nod, like it’s up to me. Always up to me. My throat tightens. I nod.

The student prepares the machine, the faint hum of the monitor filling the room. I lie back, the crinkling paper beneath me loud in the silence. My heart beats faster, the nerves clawing their way up. Eric moves to the very end of the chair, and his hand snakes around my arm until our fingers intertwine.

Neither of us looks at the other.

Dr. Matthews helps Lina maneuver the probe, and the image flickers to life on the screen, telling us that it may just be early enough that the external ultrasound may not pick up the heartbeat.

We hear it, though. A faint, rhythmic thumping.

My breath catches. Eric tightens his hold on my hand. Our eyes meet. There are tiny wrinkles on the edge of his. That’s how big his smile is.

It’s real. Not just an idea, not just a mistake I’ve been trying to outrun. A heartbeat.

Eric’s eyes go to the screen and stay locked on it. He doesn’t speak as his smile softens, but his fingers twitch, as if they each reach for the screen. I can’t tell if the flicker in his gaze is fear, awe, or something else entirely. With his hand on me, my worry about asking him what he’s thinking tells me that he’d share more than I’m willing to hear.

“Everything looks good so far,” the doctor continues. “Measurements read that you’re about eight weeks and two days pregnant. This gives you an estimated due date of November 17th.”

Lina gives me some napkins to clean my stomach, and I sit up with Eric’s help. He still hasn’t let go of my hand.

Dr. Matthews adjusts her stool, settling into the space across from me. Her expression is steady, the kind of practiced calm that comes with years of navigating delicate conversations. Beside me, Eric still doesn’t say a word. I don’t know if it’s intentional or if he’s just as lost as I am.

“Alright, Amanda,” Dr. Matthews begins, her voice gentle but clear. “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re about eight weeks along, I’d like to take a moment to walk you through your options.”

Options. Even though I knew this was coming, the word sinks into my chest, heavy and unrelenting. I made up my mind days ago. Eric shifts. I catch it from the corner of my eye, the faint crease in his forehead. He doesn’t look at me. His touch on my hand is stiff, shoulders taut, holding himself steady against something he can’t predict.

“I know this can feel overwhelming,” Dr. Matthews continues, her eyes steady on mine. There’s kindness in her voice, not the scripted warmth.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. This was not exactly the plan.” Or the plan at all. “I want to continue the pregnancy. I want to have this baby.” My voice barely rises above a whisper, but it doesn’t waver.