24. Chapter Twenty-Four Jade
Chapter Twenty-Four: Jade
M y head was still pounding when I woke up.
A strange weight knotted in my stomach, an unwelcome guest making itself at home. Tiptoeing out of bed, the world felt a little off-kilter, like I was walking a tightrope above the chaos of my own life.
I checked my phone, and there it was — Dante’s message from last night, his words a digital caress against the mess in my head. “Goodnight, Jade. How’s your headache now?” I read it aloud, ignoring the pang in my heart. I let the phone fall back onto the nightstand, the soft thud grounding me for a moment.
The first rays of sunlight were sneaking through the curtains, casting long, slanted shadows across the room as I shuffled towards the bathroom. The tiles were cold underfoot, a stark reminder of reality biting at my heels.
My hands, usually so steady and precise, betrayed a slight tremor as I reached into the cabinet. The pregnancy test lay there, inconspicuous among bottles and boxes — a sleek white stick that could tilt my world on its axis. I wrapped my fingers around it; it was cool to the touch, like holding a piece of ice that wouldn’t melt.
Resolve steeled my spine as I followed the instructions printed on the box with clinical precision. Then came the wait, every tick of the clock stretching seconds into eternities. My breath hitched, chest tight with anticipation as I watched, willing the test to reveal its secrets.
Time froze, the air thick with the weight of unspoken possibilities until, finally, the result flashed before my eyes.
Positive.
That single word echoed in the cramped space, bouncing off the tiles and drilling into my skull. I blinked, once, twice, refusing to accept the truth staring back at me from the digital display. The ground beneath my feet felt like it was shifting, trying to throw me off balance. My mind raced with the implications, each one more daunting than the last.
The bathroom mirror caught my gaze, reflecting a woman who looked like a stranger. Dark hair fell haphazardly around a face pale with shock, eyes wide and disbelieving. This can’t be happening, not to me, not now. I’m Dr. Jade Bentley, for God’s sake, with a career that doesn’t have room for... this.
“Okay, think, Jade,” I murmured to myself, my voice sounding hollow against the tiled walls. The reflection didn’t respond, just continued to stare back with that same look of utter disbelief. But doubt gnawed at me, relentless as the headaches that had become my uninvited morning companions. What if the test is wrong? It happens, right?
With a surge of desperate hope, I tore open another package. Repeating the process felt like a twisted déjà vu, each step heavier with dread and silent prayers for a different outcome. I clutched the second test like a lifeline, heart pounding against my ribs so hard I could almost hear it echoing in the silence.
I watched, breath held tight in my chest, as the minutes crawled by until the result locked into place. There it was again, those bold lines forming a plus sign that seemed to brand itself into my consciousness.
Unmistakable.
Undeniable.
Positive.
A bitter laugh escaped me, void of any real humor. “Twice confirmed, then,” I said aloud to no one, the sound of my voice an attempt to anchor myself to reality. My life, meticulously planned and controlled, suddenly felt like a house of cards caught in a tempest, ready to collapse under the weight of a secret two pink lines thick.
I’d never called in sick before—not when I had the flu last winter, nor when I sprained my wrist a couple of years back. But today, my fingers trembled as I typed out a message to my supervisor. The lie tasted like ash on my tongue; I claimed a sudden fever, a sore throat, the usual suspects for a day spent curled under the covers instead of beneath the sterile hum of lab fluorescents.
“Sent,” I whispered, dropping the phone on the counter as if it burned. The room spun slightly, and I gripped the edge of the bathtub, willing myself to stay grounded. My head throbbed—a cruel reminder that no matter how much I wished this morning away, reality wasn’t going to change.
“Get up, Jade. Focus,” I muttered, forcing myself to stand. I needed answers, something concrete to hold onto. Dressing quickly, I chose jeans and a black tank top, clothes that wouldn’t draw attention or raise questions. Clothes that said ‘normal’ even though nothing about today was.
The walk to the clinic was mechanical, each step a bitter march toward an unknown future. I ignored the passersby, the shop windows, the vibrant life of New York City waking up around me. Their normality was a world away from the chaos churning inside me.
My phone buzzed, derailing my train of thought. It was Ellie.
You okay? the text read, simple and direct.
Ellie always knew when something was off.
Headache’s turned into maybe the flu, I lied again, thumb hovering over the send button before committing to the deception. I couldn’t face her worry, not now, not with my own fears still clawing their way through my mind.
K. Take care, babe, came her immediate reply, followed by a little heart emoji. Guilt pinched at my heart.
Will do, El, I typed back, pocketing my phone with an exhale that felt more like surrender than relief. Onward to the clinic, to confirmation, to decisions I wasn’t ready to make. But ready or not, the truth waited for no one—not even Dr. Jade Bentley, who thought she had control over every aspect of her life.
The clinic was a nondescript building sandwiched between a run-down laundromat and a bodega with neon signs that had seen better days. The bell above the door chimed softly as I entered, not quite ready to face the reality I suspected waited for me.
“Can I help you?” a nurse at the front desk asked, her voice professional but not unkind.
“Jade Bentley,” I murmured, the name feeling foreign on my lips.
“Please fill out these forms,” she instructed, sliding paperwork across the counter. I took a seat in the waiting area, its sterile neutrality oddly soothing compared to the storm inside me.
The walls were adorned with bland, abstract art—splotches of color that meant nothing and everything all at once. Other patients sat around me, lost in their own worlds of private concerns. I scribbled answers mechanically, ticking boxes without truly reading the questions.
“Jade Bentley?” A nurse’s voice cut through the soft hum of activity, the sound making my heart leap into my throat.
“Here,” I answered, standing up too quickly, my legs a little wobbly.
“Follow me, please.” Her scrubs rustled as she led me down a hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic.
The examination room was small, functional. A man with a name tag that said Dr. Alvarez and looked about five years younger than me entered soon after, his eyes scanning the chart in his hands before they met mine.
“Miss Bentley, I’m Dr. Alvarez. What brings you in today?” His tone was kind, his gaze steady—a rock amidst my swirling sea of doubt.
I rubbed my temple. “Doctor.”
“Yes, I’m–”
I held my hand up. “I’m Dr. Bentley.”
He nodded. “Right. A physician?”
I shook my head. “No, and look, it doesn’t matter,” I said, wishing I hadn’t corrected him.
“So, what does bring you in today, Dr. Bentley?”
I hesitated, the words catching like hooks in my throat. “I’ve been having persistent headaches...and there are two positive tests.” My voice was barely a whisper.
He took a second to process this. “Oh, right,” he said. “I understand. We’ll take good care of you. Let’s start with some basics and go from there.”
“Thank you,” I managed to say, tucking away my fears. There would be time enough for those later. For now, I was just another patient in Dr. Alvarez’s capable hands, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.
A few minutes later, I was sitting at the examination table.
“Take a deep breath for me, Dr. Bentley,” Dr. Alvarez had instructed as he pressed the stethoscope against my back. I complied, feeling the cool metal through the fabric of my tank top, inhaling the sterile scent of the clinic that had become too familiar in the last hour. The crisp paper beneath me crinkled with every shift of my body, each sound echoing my unease.
“Any discomfort here?” His touch was clinical as he palpated my abdomen, eyes focused, searching for signs I couldn’t begin to understand.
“None,” I replied, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to be anywhere but on this examination table.
“Alright, we’re going to run a few tests. It won’t take long.” Dr. Alvarez’s reassurance was meant to comfort, but the wait churned my insides more viciously than any centrifuge. “We could do another urine test for hCG, but I have a feeling you’re going to want a blood test.”
“Is it more accurate?” I asked, grasping at the hope of certainty.
“Both tests are accurate,” he said with a gentle smile. “However, a blood test can provide quantitative results, telling us how much hCG is in your system. This might give you some peace of mind.”
The mention of peace of mind sent a hollow laugh rising up my throat, but I swallowed it back, nodding instead. “Yes, let’s do the blood test. Will you be able to tell how far along I am?”
Dr. Alvarez nodded, a thoughtful frown playing on his lips. “We can estimate based on the hCG levels, yes. But keep in mind that it’s just an estimation. An ultrasound would be more accurate.”
I took a steadying breath, decision made. “Let’s do both.”
He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat, pulling his sterile gloves off with a snap. “Alright, I’ll have the nurse order your tests and we’ll get started. Get comfortable, Dr. Bentley. I have a feeling you’re going to be here for a good while.”
Dr. Alvarez’s prediction proved correct. The tests were time-consuming, the waiting heavy, pressing down on me with an intensity that seemed to consume all else. A technician rolled in with an ultrasound machine, positioning it next to my examination bed with the precision of years of practice. Her name tag read ‘Nancy’, and she smiled at me gently, aware of the tenseness that clung to me like a second skin.
“Hi, honey. Just breathe, okay? This is going to be a little cold on your skin.”
The cold gel sliding over my stomach sending tremors up my spine. I watched her eyes flicker over the monitor, her silence amplified by the steady hum of the machine.
The room shrank with every passing second, until there was only Nancy and me and the dull grey images flashing across the ultrasound screen. Numbers and data points blurred into a confusing jumble, my scientific mind scrambling to find answers where there were none.
Then, a sound cut through the discord - a tiny rhythm pulsing with life. A heartbeat. So fast, I almost couldn’t compute it.
The impact was immediate. It was a jolt of electricity, a free-fall, a seismic shift beneath my foundation. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything suddenly off-kilter.
“Is that...?” My voice tapered off into nothingness as Nancy nodded, her smile gentle, her eyes filled with a kindness that made the room feel less cold.
“Yes, honey. That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”