“How…?” I start, and then stop.
I know how.
That’s not the question.
“How far along?” I manage.
“Based on hormone levels, approximately three weeks.”
My brain immediately replays a montage I did not consent to:
The night.
The shift.
Oh, no!
I press a hand to my stomach as if I might actually feel the physical evidence of the baby she says is in there.
Theres nothing.
I feel exactly the same.
Except I’m not.
I’m suddenly a woman in a beige room holding a folder that contains the sentence, “You are pregnant.
“That explains the nausea. Morning sickness,” the doctor continues cheerfully. “And the dizziness. We’ll schedule an ultrasound in a few weeks.”
Ultrasound.
There will be a screen.
There will be a tiny shape.
My heart does something strange in my chest.
Disbelief.
Panic.
Horror.
And a flicker of something close to wonder.
“Do you feel safe?” she asks gently.
“Yes,” I say immediately.
That part is true.
She hands me prenatal vitamin recommendations and hydration guidelines and leaves me alone.
I stare at the wall.
I’m pregnant.
This is not a drill.