Chapter 17
AVERY
The paper on the examination table crinkles every time I shift my weight. I'm trying to hold still, but my body won't cooperate. Too much nervous energy looking for somewhere to go.
Nick is in the chair beside me, as close as the furniture will allow.
His hand found mine the moment we sat down, and neither of us has let go since.
His thumb moves idly across my knuckles, a rhythm I don't think he's aware of.
But I feel every pass, the steady pressure grounding me as we wait for Dr. Wilson to arrive.
It's been a week since I told him about the baby.
A week of tenderness and careful attention, his hands finding my belly when he thinks I'm sleeping, his gaze tracking every bite I take at breakfast, the gentleness that's crept into even his smallest touches.
But this first prenatal appointment has been hovering over everything, a question mark neither of us wants to voice out loud.
What if we learn something's wrong?
I haven't said it to him. He's carrying enough worry for both of us.
He's been coiled tight all morning, that familiar vigilance sharpened to a fine point.
Checking on me before we left. Making sure I ate something.
Driving here like a single pothole might shatter us both, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching for my knee at every red light as if he couldn't bear to go too long without touching me.
All that protective energy focused entirely on me.
It should probably annoy me, his protective, watchful hovering. It doesn't. There's something deeply reassuring about having him here, solid and present, my partner in every meaningful sense of the word.
I squeeze his hand, just to remind him how grateful I am that he's with me, not only today but in this life we're making together. He squeezes back, and the tender look he gives me makes something settle in my chest.
The door opens and Dr. Wilson comes in, giving both of us a warm smile. "Good morning, Avery. Dominic, nice to meet you. I'm Jane Wilson."
Nick rises to shake her hand. "Good to meet you. Call me Nick."
"Of course." She settles onto her stool and pulls up something on the computer, asking how I've been feeling since my last visit.
I give her the rundown. Nausea in the mornings, manageable with crackers and ginger tea. I add that I've been more tired than usual, especially in the afternoons. Nothing alarming.
She nods and makes notes, then turns toward the ultrasound equipment beside the exam table. "All right, let's take a look. Today we're going to check placement, make sure everything's developing normally, and hopefully find that heartbeat."
I swallow the bubble of excitement that rises in me. I'm certain Nick is feeling it too. I feel the subtle flex of his fingers as he grips my hand.
Dr. Wilson smiles at us. "Ready to see your baby?"
"Yes," I whisper, barely able to contain my anticipation. Beside me, Nick is still and focused, that intensity radiating off him.
She has me lie back then tucks the gown up to expose my stomach.
"The gel will be cold at first," she warns, and she's right. I flinch when it hits my skin. Nick's grip clamps down like I've been hurt, his whole body tensing, and I have to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before he relaxes.
The wand presses against my abdomen. On the monitor beside us, grainy shapes appear in black and white. Shadows and curves that don't mean anything to me yet.
"Here's the gestational sac," Dr. Wilson says, pointing to something on the screen. "Good position, good shape. And there..."
She adjusts the wand slightly, tilting it.
"There's your baby."
I stare at the screen. A tiny shape in the middle of all that gray, barely anything, really. A bean. A smudge with the faintest suggestion of form. But it's there. It's real. Inside me right now, a tiny life is growing while I breathe and worry and hope.
My throat goes tight. My eyes sting with tears I wasn't expecting.
I've seen ultrasound pictures before. Friends posting them on social media, photos stuck to refrigerators with cheerful magnets. I thought I knew what to expect. But seeing it now—my baby, our baby—hits me somewhere deeper than I was prepared for.
"Let's see if we can find the heartbeat." Dr. Wilson adjusts the machine, and the image on the screen shifts, zooming in on that tiny shape.
I hold my breath without meaning to while she holds the wand to my abdomen and studies the screen. Then a small sound breaks the silence. Rapid and rhythmic, quick and strong. So much faster than I expected, like a tiny drum beating double-time.
"There it is," Dr. Wilson says, satisfaction in her voice. "That's a good, healthy heartbeat. Exactly what we want to see at this stage."
I can't speak. Can't do anything but listen to that quick, steady rhythm.
The tears spill over before I can stop them, tracking down my cheeks.
Something I've been holding tight in my chest all week finally lets go, and the relief moves through me in a warm rush.
This is really happening. We're really doing this.
"Nick." I turn to look at him, my voice wobbly and thick with emotion.
His face is unguarded, the careful control he wears everywhere stripped away. He's staring at the screen with something raw in his expression. Relief, maybe. Astonishment. His throat works as he swallows hard. His chest rises and falls with a caught breath.
I've never loved him more than I do right now, watching him come undone over the sound of our child's heartbeat.
Our eyes meet, and I see tears he's fighting.
The vulnerability he shows no one but me.
Everything we've been through to get here—the fight last week, the night we spent apart, the fear that we'd broken something between us—it all falls away.
None of it matters anymore. We made it through.
We're here, together, listening to our baby's heart for the first time.
His fingers tighten around mine, and I feel everything he can't say in the pressure of his grip.
Dr. Wilson keeps talking, walking us through measurements and dates and development milestones.
Everything looks perfect, she says. Right on track.
I catch enough to be reassured, but most of my attention is on Nick.
On the way he keeps looking between the screen and me, like he can't quite believe either one of us is real.
She finishes the exam, wipes the gel from my stomach with a warm cloth, and prints out images for us.
"Everything looks excellent," she says, handing me the printouts. Our baby, frozen in grainy black and white. "I know the first trimester can be an anxious time, but you have every reason to be optimistic. Think of the embryo as a pearl inside a well-padded oyster."
A pearl. My gaze flicks to Nick. His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us, quick and private. A shared awareness that has nothing to do with obstetrics. Pearls will always mean something unique to us. Something intimate and personal, though Dr. Wilson couldn’t know that.
The corner of Nick’s mouth curves, barely perceptible. I feel heat touch my cheeks as the doctor continues.
Thank God everything is normal and right. The tension I've been carrying finally loosens inside me. My shoulders relax, along with a tightness in my chest that I hadn't even realized was there.
Nick speaks for the first time since we heard the heartbeat. "What do we need to do?"
His voice is rough, serious. It's him in full CEO mode, but aimed entirely at prenatal care.
"What should Avery be eating? Things to avoid? What about stress—how do we keep that under control? And what about other activities?" He glances at me, adorably awkward, before flicking his sheepish look at the doctor. "Is it safe for us to still… you know."
"Have sex?" Dr. Wilson smiles, and I can tell she's seen and heard all of this before. The protective partner who wants to optimize everything, treat pregnancy like the most important project he's ever managed. "Yes. In a healthy early pregnancy, sex is perfectly safe. You won't hurt the baby."
Nick visibly relaxes. I try not to laugh.
"The only rule is the same as everything else," the doctor continues. "If something causes pain or discomfort, stop and adjust. Try to avoid stress whenever possible. Otherwise, enjoy your lives. There's no need to put yourselves in bubble wrap yet."
She walks us through the basics: prenatal vitamins I've already started, nutrition guidelines, the importance of rest and hydration. Foods to avoid. Warning signs to watch for, when to call with concerns.
Nick listens intently, nodding at each point, and I know he'll remember every single word. Knowing him, he'll research more tonight, dive into medical journals and pregnancy guides until he knows more than most first-time fathers ever think to learn.
"One more thing to think about," Dr. Wilson adds. "Down the road, you'll have the option to find out the baby's gender. There's a blood test around ten weeks, or you can wait for the anatomy scan at twenty weeks. Or save it for delivery, if you want the surprise."
I glance at Nick. We haven't talked about this. There's so much we haven't talked about. Names, nurseries, how a baby fits into lives as complicated as ours.
His eyes meet mine, a silent question. What do you want?
I shake my head slightly. Not here. This conversation is for us, alone.
He nods. Understands without needing words.
"We'll think about it," I tell her.
She gives us final instructions and reminds me to take care of myself, then leaves us alone to get dressed and absorb everything.
Nick is holding the ultrasound printout, staring at it like he's memorizing every pixel. After a long moment, he tucks it carefully into his jacket pocket, settling it against his chest.
I reach for him and he comes immediately, wrapping me in his arms while I'm still sitting on the exam table. I press my face against his chest and breathe him in, the warm familiar scent of him, the solid weight of his arms surrounding me.
"We're having a baby," I murmur against his shoulder.
"We're having a baby." His voice is rough, still carrying that edge of amazement, like he's trying to make it real by saying it out loud.
I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Hope settles into my bones for the first time since I sat alone on our bathroom floor staring at two pink lines.
But underneath it, a quieter thought waits. Our wedding is just a couple of weeks away now. All the noise around it. The pressures waiting just outside this room.
I push that aside for now. Those are worries for another day.
My hand finds my belly. Nick's hand covers mine there. Warm. Steady. Sure.
Today, this is enough.
His heartbeat under my cheek. And our baby's heartbeat still echoing in my ears.