47. Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Seven
AVA
I sit in the passenger seat of Jackson’s truck, hands twisted together in my lap. Jackson drives confidently, his good hand steady on the wheel. Every so often, he glances at me, like he wants to say something but holds back.
Yesterday, after we saw the result, I called my doctor’s office. When they learned I was pregnant with an IUD in place, they squeezed me in for an appointment first thing this morning.
The closer we get to the clinic, the more my thoughts splinter. The test was one thing, but this appointment feels real in a way that roots into my bones.
When we pull into the parking lot, I let out a nervous breath. Jackson cuts the engine but doesn’t move to open his door right away. He turns to me instead.
“Hey.” His voice is low, careful. “You ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll sit,” he says, easy. We breathe for a few beats.
“Okay,” I whisper at last. I pop the handle and push the door open. Cool air spills in as I step down.
Without a word, he offers his hand. I take it and he gives a steady squeeze. It anchors me just enough to take a deep breath as we cross the lot.
Inside, Jackson keeps hold of my hand while I check in, and we find seats in the corner.
My knee bounces restlessly.
For the past week, I’ve been consumed by what-ifs, and what it might mean for us if I was pregnant. I kept imagining that if I said it out loud, I’d somehow lose everything we were just beginning to build.
But now, with his hand over mine, with him showing up in every possible way, the weight starts to slip off my shoulders. It’s not gone, but it’s lighter. Because no matter how scared I am, I know I’m not in this alone.
When they call my name, I stand on wobbly legs. Jackson rises too.
The nurse smiles as she leads us down the hall. “Right this way. We’ll take good care of you.”
When the doctor enters, her face is kind and calm. She reviews my chart, confirms the positive test, and explains next steps. I hear words like viability, IUD removal, and early scan, but they jumble together in my head until she rests a hand lightly on my knee.
“Because there’s an IUD in place, we’ll start with an ultrasound today—make sure everything looks good and see where the device is. Then we’ll remove it,” she says gently.
I nod, though my heart feels like it’s about to bolt from my chest.
The doctor explains each step as she sets up the machine, but her words blur around the edges. Jackson shifts closer to the table, still holding my hand, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s trying to keep me tethered to this moment.
When the screen flickers to life, a thin gray blur becomes a small, pulsing shape.
“That’s your baby,” the doctor says softly. “It’s early, but there’s a heartbeat. Everything looks reassuring.”
Something inside me splinters in the best, most terrifying way.
A soft sound breaks from my throat, and Jackson’s eyes dart from the screen to me. His expression is raw, awestruck. He squeezes my hand again, harder this time.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod, tears spilling over, my heart so full it aches. “This… is really happening?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice breaking. “That’s our baby.”
For a second, all the fear, all the questions, all the rushing thoughts fall away. It’s just us, and that tiny flicker on the screen. It’s impossibly small and yet somehow already everything.
“Good,” the doctor says quietly. “I can see the IUD strings, so removal should be straightforward. We’ll take it out now.”
The removal happens faster than I expect. There’s a pinch, a sting that makes my breath catch, but Jackson’s hand tightens around mine the moment I flinch.
“You did great,” the doctor says, her voice gentle.
I exhale, the air leaving in a shaky rush.
“I’ll want you to start prenatal vitamins if you haven’t already, and we’ll schedule your first full prenatal visit in about two weeks to go over everything in detail.”
As we walk out, I clutch the small stack of papers the nurse handed me with early pregnancy guidelines. It feels like holding the fragile first blueprint of an entirely new life.
I catch glimpses of my reflection in the glass doors as we pass: hair a little messy, eyes red, a dazed kind of wonder stamped across my face.
When we reach the truck, he opens the door for me, but I don’t climb in right away. I just stand there, staring at him.
He waits, silent, his blue eyes patient and gentle.
I let out a shaky breath, pressing my palm to my stomach without thinking. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel right now,” I whisper.
Jackson steps closer. “However you feel is okay,” he says. “Scared, happy, all of it. We’ll figure it out.”
Something knotted inside me loosens at his words. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. He holds me carefully, his face pressing into my hair.
We stand like that for what feels like forever.
When I finally pull away, there’s a softness in his eyes I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
“Ready to head home?” he asks, his voice quiet and even.
We drive home in a quiet that doesn’t feel heavy, just full. Every so often, I catch Jackson’s hand drifting over to rest on my knee or squeeze my fingers. Each touch feels like a small promise.
When we step into the house, the sound of laughter drifts in from the backyard. Miss Taylor is out there with the boys, and through the kitchen window, I see them running across the grass, shouting and chasing each other in wide, looping circles.
Jackson steps closer, brushing a light kiss over the side of my head. “They don’t have to know yet,” he murmurs, reading my thoughts. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. Part of me wants to tell them now, to fold them into this new world that’s blooming in my chest. But I know we need time. Time to hold this close, just for us, before it belongs to anyone else.
That afternoon, we drift through the house in a gentle rhythm. I pack a small suitcase, my hands moving slowly over folded shirts and soft dresses.
As I fold each piece, my mind drifts to Open Pages: the bookmobiles, the summer programs, all the tiny details. I think of Jenna, how she’s always been the one I trust most, the one who never hesitates to jump in.
I make a quiet promise to myself that I’ll talk to her soon. I’ll tell her about the baby, then ask her for help carrying more of the load for a while.
It feels strange to think about stepping back but also freeing. Like making space for something new without dropping the parts of me I still love.
Jackson double-checks his travel bag, quiet and focused. Every now and then, we pass each other in the hallway and pause. His fingers brush my arm, my hand lands on his chest. Both of us stand there for a breath longer than necessary.
Miss Taylor keeps the boys busy, promising them a movie night and extra dessert while we’re away. Their excited chatter floats through the house like a warm breeze.
After dinner, Jackson and I meet in the bedroom. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed, testing the shoulder he’s been guarding so carefully.
“I’m still out for Game 3, but I’m officially cleared for Game 4,” he says when he catches my eye. Relief threads through his voice, edged with determination.
A smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it. “That’s great,” I say, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “I know how much you’ve been waiting for this.”
Tomorrow, we leave for Denver. Tomorrow the world keeps spinning: games, travel, the noise of everything waiting beyond this house. But today, it’s just us, holding on to the small, quiet hope of everything still to come.
Before bed, I pad down the hall to switch off the porch light and pause in the entryway. The boys’ sneakers sit in a lopsided heap. I catch myself picturing a smaller pair beside them next spring.
I’m still scared, just less than I was yesterday.