Page 99 of Dissonance

“Don’t worry,” the nurse says, with the ease of someone who’s seen this exact version of panic plenty of times before. “We’ll get you sorted.”

I follow her down a corridor, lowering myself into a chair. My movements are slower, like whatever trust I had in my body has completely gone. Dad hovers near the door, his nervous energy coming off him in waves, and I close my eyes, focus on my breathing, on the solid weight of my bump under my palm, on the muffled sounds beyond the door.

“Thea.”

My eyes snap open. Lockie stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, hands gripping either side of the frame. He’s holding himself unnaturally still. Too rigid, shoulders pulled back, every muscle braced. It’s the posture of a soldier standing to attention, except tighter than that, wound beyond it, and it frightens me in a way I can’t account for because Lockie—even at full alert—is always the calm in the room, and right now, he isn’t.

“Hey,” I say, reaching toward him.

He crosses the room in two strides and drops to his knees in front of me, hands framing my face, gaze moving over me like he’s running a damage assessment. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. They’re going to check.”

His thumbs brush along my cheeks, before his hands lower to my stomach, resting there, completely still.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, to me or to her, I don’t know, but it cracks open the part of me that’s been trying to hold it together.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” I say, my voice unsteady. “It just kept coming.”

“You did the right thing.” His eyes haven’t moved from where his hands frame our daughter.

Dad clears his throat from somewhere behind us. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“I’ll give you two some space.” He steps forward and places a kiss on the top of my head. “Call me when you know more.”

Lockie gets to his feet and shakes his hand. “Thank you, sir, for getting her here.”

Dad nods and steps out, the door closing behind him. Lockie turns back to me, face pale, hollowed out in a way that has nothing to do with the journey or the rush to get here.

“You’re okay,” he says, like he needs the words to be true more than he needs me to confirm them.

“Yeah.” I hold his gaze. “They said it’s probably normal.”

I watch his face, waiting for the relief to sink in. It doesn’t.

“It doesn’t even feel as bad now,” I add, hoping that changes his expression.

He nods. “Good.”

That’s all I get. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t come closer, doesn’t let any air out of his lungs. He stands near the wall, present in the room but unreachable, and I don’t know how to cross the distance between us. I need him, and he’s right there, and I can’t get to him.

The door opens, and a nurse comes in, already moving toward the ultrasound machine. “Hi, Miss Calloway. Let’s have a look, shall we? If you could get up on the bed for me.”

I push to my feet as Lockie steps back to make room. I settle onto the paper covering, lifting my blouse while the nurse talks me through what she’s doing: the monitor, the belt pulled snug around my stomach. I try to follow what she’s saying, but I keep coming back to Lockie standing off to the side, watching the screen with that same expression, unreadable and tightly held.

“Have you had anything like this before?”

“No.”

“From what you described at reception, this sounds like Braxton Hicks.” She adjusts the monitor. “Very common at this stage, especially with a first pregnancy. Nothing to worry about.”

I let out a breath, sagging back against the bed, the tightness in my chest loosening. Not entirely, but enough that I can breathe properly for the first time since this morning. “Okay. Good.”

I look at Lockie again, waiting for the relief to reach him too. It doesn’t. He’s still watching the screen where our daughter moves, and nothing changes in his face when the strong, undeniable rhythm of her heartbeat fills the room. Not reassurance, not the exhale I’m waiting for. Just the same careful blankness, like the news hasn’t reached wherever he’s gone.

Everything’s fine.

So why does it feel like he’s still waiting for it not to be?