Chapter 13
April
Five months later…
My knees stick to the crinkly paper sheet, and I can smell bleach under the fake air freshener.
Harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, way too bright for the mood I’m in.
I keep my arms folded across my stomach until the technician asks me to recline back.
Apparently, I’m supposed to be comfortable with my whole womanhood exposed for the world to see.
Yeah, right.
There’s a chair to my left, thin metal legs, plastic seat. It sits next to the exam table, so close I could reach out, grip an arm if I needed someone to ground me. If I weren’t alone.
Ben should be there.
His hands, steady and warm, inked to the wrists, folded over mine, making me feel safe. Imagining that lazy half-smile, and the way his eyes would light up at the first sight of the blurry image on the screen.
Instead, it’s just me and a stranger with a badge that says NANCY in bubble letters. She grabs the bottle, pops the cap, and a thick string of cold gel lands on my bare, rounded belly.
“Sorry, hon,” she says, with sugary sympathy, but her hands are quick and businesslike. “It’s always cold.” Acting like that’s the worst part.
The gel makes me flinch. I stare straight up at the ceiling, because if I look sideways, I’ll see the empty space where Ben should be, and that will wreck me harder than anything else.
Belinda nudges the probe over my skin. The monitor next to the bed flickers on, shifting gray and white static. The wand digs in a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me tense.
“There we go. Your bladder’s full, right?”
I nod, my throat closing up. If I try to say something, I’ll probably start crying, and I can’t…won’t…lose it in front of a random medical tech.
A beat passes. She swipes the probe, clicks a few buttons, and suddenly the screen snaps into focus. There’s my baby, floating lazily, knees curled up, tiny fists like they’re ready to fight.
Nancy’s voice brightens. “Let’s take a look at your little one. See that? That’s the head, right here,” she points. “And it looks like you’ve got a thumb sucker, Mom. Isn’t that cute?”
I swallow. My mouth is dry. “Yeah,” I manage. “Really cute.”
She keeps talking, maybe thinking it’ll keep me calm. “Here’s the heart, and it’s strong.” On the screen, there’s a little flutter, beating quick and steady. Ten fingers, ten toes. Let’s get a profile picture for you; parents always love that.”
Parents.
Plural.
The word lands heavy.
My hands are shaking, but I squeeze them together and hope the tech doesn’t notice.
Nancy makes another adjustment, pressing the wand deeper, and the baby’s foot kicks out on the screen. I feel it too, that soft ripple across my insides.
I smile. Not a real one, not the kind that lights up your face and your eyes…your whole soul.
The tech glances over, but I keep my focus on the stained ceiling tile above me, counting the little brown specks like they’re stars.
“One more thing. You wanted to know the sex, right?”
I nod, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.
She leans in, eyes focusing as she zooms in on the grainy blur. “Well, looks like I’ve got some news for you.” Big smile, “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
The word knocks something loose in my chest. I can’t breathe for a second. My eyes are hot and wet.
“A…a girl?” I whisper. My throat feels raw.
She keeps smiling, nodding like it’s the best news ever. “Yep. No doubt about it. You’re halfway there, Mom. Let me get you some pictures. Hold on.”
I can’t even blink.
My daughter.
Right there, kicking the hell out of my uterine wall, refusing to be ignored. Even at twenty weeks, she’s stubborn. Maybe she gets that from me. Maybe it’s all him.
My head spins and I wait for some sense of relief, but it never comes. Instead, I get this tidal wave of wanting. I want Ben here. Wishing that this was his baby, and our moment.
The thoughts cutting sharper than any blade.
Nancy wipes the wand clean, peeling the paper towel off my hip in one practiced motion. She turns back to the printer, its hum fills the silence, and the pictures start rolling out in strips.
On screen, my daughter floats, oblivious and perfectly real. I reach for the photo as the tech hands it to me. My fingers are shaking so bad I nearly drop it.
“That’s her right there, this is the profile…” Nancy explains the printouts, lining them up like mugshots, each one stamped in black with my name and the date. “She was really moving today.”
I try to respond, but my lips are numb. I nod, clutching the black and white photos so hard they nearly wrinkle.
“Are you okay?” the tech asks, and there’s something careful in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lied. “Thanks.”
She prints a few extras, “for whoever’s waiting at home.” I force myself to smile, but it’s brittle as glass.
“That’s great,” I say. “He’ll…he’ll be excited.”
Lie number two.
Nancy reaches into her drawer and hands me a cheery paper, “Milestones of Development—Week 20!” printed at the top in a bright font. I can’t look her in the eye when I take it.
“Baby girl is about the size of a banana,” she reads off, like I haven’t already Googled these a million desperate nights in a row. “You’ll probably start to feel her kicking a lot more in the next couple weeks. You’re doing great. She looks really healthy.”
“Thanks,” I say again, quietly.
That's all I know how to say anymore.
Nancy gives a tight little nod, tosses her gloves, and tells me I can get dressed.
Once alone, I stare at the printouts in my lap. I want so bad to text Ben, tell him everything. Would he even answer? Would he understand?
I feel like a total idiot for even thinking he’d want to have anything to do with me, hearing how I was knocked up by some stranger in a sex club, whose face I never saw.
I quickly get dressed, tucking the photos into my purse, burying them under my wallet and my keys, like hiding her will make the craving for him any smaller.
I take a deep breath, wipe my face, and push away all the ‘what ifs’ or ‘what could have beens.’ Because sometimes life doesn’t go the way we want it to, but you have to keep going. And sometimes you have to do it alone.
The second I’m out in the hallway, I duck my head and try to blend in. Like that’s possible.
My sweater might as well be a glowing sign. I’m six pounds heavier than the last time I wore it, and if I move too quickly, it rides up, exposing everything I’ve been hiding. I keep one arm folded across my stomach, pretending I’m cold, or nervous, or both.
Nobody looks up. No one ever does.
I book it down the hallway, eyes on the ground, counting tiles. All I want is to make it to my car without being seen.
Instead, my phone buzzes, screen lighting up in my hand. The alert makes me jump and I nearly drop it.
It’s my lovely stepmom.
Be home by six for dinner. No excuses this time. Your sisters will be there.
My stomach sinks, and the same old nausea rises up, except now, I can’t blame hormones.
I try to text back, something generic, but my head’s spinning.
I round the corner at full speed, right into someone twice my size.
The collision is brutal, making me drop everything. Including my purse, and all of its contents. The envelope of ultrasound photos goes flying, pictures everywhere.
I drop to my knees, scrambling to pick them up before anyone else can see.
But it’s too late.
I freeze; photos clutched in my fist and look up.
Standing right in front of me is Corinne Hayes.
Ben’s sister.
I haven’t seen her since the night Ben invited me to their family game night. She doesn’t say anything, just looks, eyes sharp and zeroing in on me. Except she’s not glaring.
She’s staring at my bump and the ultrasound photos like she’s seeing a damn ghost.
“April?” she finally says, her voice flat and weirdly soft.
I try to stand up, but my legs aren’t working. I’m stuck in a squat, holding the pictures to my chest, wishing I could vanish.
Corinne takes a step closer, and her gaze jumps between my face, the bulge under my sweater, and the one black-and-white photo that’s still lying on the floor.
Right there is my name, printed in bold. She doesn’t bend to help, frozen in place, instead.
I scramble to shove the rest of the photos into my purse, barely managing to keep it together.
I’m so screwed.
Absolutely, one hundred percent screwed.
We stay like that for a second longer, while her eyes dart everywhere…my belly, the photo, my name. The date.
She doesn’t say anything.
Not for a long-ass time.
Finally, I manage to get up, grabbing the bench for support, pulling myself up. My knees aren’t cooperating and I’m not even sure I can stand straight.
“Please, Corinne.” My voice is just air, no sound at all. I barely recognize it. “Don’t tell Ben. Please.”
That snaps her out of it.
She blinks, mouth falling open like she’s just now realizing I can talk. “What the hell, April?” She keeps her voice low, but there’s real heat behind it. “This—this wasn’t exactly what I expected to see.”
I wrap my arms tight around my stomach. I can’t do this. I can’t have her looking at me like I’m some awful person.
“It’s not Ben’s,” I blurt. “It can’t be Ben’s. I swear.”
She narrows her eyes, “Really. That's interesting timing, don’t you think?”
I almost dropped my bag. My chest is too tight for air.
Corinne steps closer, voice lowering. “Please, if this baby belongs to Ben, he needs to know.”
I shake my head. Everything in me wants to double down, but the words come out a jumbled mess. “It’s not him. I promise. Please. Don’t say anything, Corinne. He has enough to deal with; he doesn’t need this.”
Her eyes go to my stomach again, then back to my face. “You’re telling me you slept with someone else around the same time?”
I want to lie. I really do.
“No. It was six weeks before I met him. Promise me,” I whisper, tears on the verge, blurring her face. “He can never know. Please.”
She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. I know she doesn’t believe me. But I’m telling the truth. At least that part. Ben and I never had actual sex. But I’m already mortified with seeing her, I don’t want to go into details about my sex life or the night I actually got pregnant.
I watch as she’s replaying every detail in her head, lining up the clues. “Sure. Fine. Whatever you want.”
But her eyes say otherwise.
Corinne takes a step back, scanning me one last time, and for a moment I’m positive she’s about to call Ben right here in the hallway.
Instead, she nods, “Take care of yourself, April.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me in a puddle of shame and terror.
I slide down onto the bench, face in my hands. If secrets had a weight, I’d be crushed.
He can’t know.
If Ben ever found out, my entire world would explode even more than it already has. It would be like losing him all over again. And for about thirty seconds, that’s all I can think about.