Chapter 22
Bianca
He doesn’t come.
He’s not here.
Panic races through me as I sit in the doctor’s waiting room. Alone.
I check my phone again.
Niko
Taking off now.
And then, nothing.
He doesn’t call or text. Hell, he doesn’t even answer my calls or texts. He’s just…not fucking here.
I glance around at the other expecting mothers in the waiting room. Every single one of them has a person at her side—a partner, a parent, a best friend.
Only I’m alone.
Again. Just like last time.
My fingers tremble as panic races through me. I can’t do this alone. I’m not strong enough to do this alone. What if there’s no heartbeat? What if something is seriously wrong?
I suck in a breath, hold it, let it out slowly.
It’s my own fault that I’m by myself. Marlowe and Carla both offered to come with me today, but I politely declined because Niko promised he’d be here.
I encouraged my brother and Carla to enjoy their day off—it’s a rarity when their off-time aligns—and pushed them to spend the night in Jávea, a little beach town south of Valencia.
That’s how certain I was that I wouldn’t be alone today. I believed Niko when he said he’d move mountains and do whatever he had to do to be here. That there was no way in hell he was missing this.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes and I want to claw them out. I’m so sick of feeling emotional.
The rhythm I’ve built over the past few weeks strikes a jarring chord. The musical soundtrack of my life lately skips.
It was stupid of me to put so much trust in Niko. Haven’t I learned by now that the only people I can truly count on are myself and Luca?
I blink rapidly as my vision blurs. And I remember the last time I sat alone in an office like this. Again, the man I waited on didn’t fucking show.
Christian didn’t want our baby. In fact, he completely checked out the moment I told him I was pregnant.
“I’m not ready to be a father.”
“I’m too young.”
“I have my whole future ahead of me.”
Excuses. Christian gave me a litany of excuses.
Our entire relationship—one marked with years and experiences, shaded with sorrows and joys, underlined with sacrifices and celebrations—came to an end that afternoon.
“Fine. I don’t need you anyway.”
“I can do this without you.”
“I can do anything without you!”
I had spat my hurt at him. Hopped up on adrenaline and incensed with anger, I let my ego run my mouth.
But within the first week of learning that I was carrying Christian’s baby, my mom’s health deteriorated. I was waking up multiple times a night to care for her, to help her in the bathroom, to rub her heaving shoulders as she vomited, to press a cool compress to her clammy forehead.
How the hell was I going to become a first-time mom? Was I even capable of taking care of a baby? I could barely care for myself and my mom.
I never told my mom. I never told Luca. Hell, I didn’t even tell Christian what I decided in the end. After I texted him my appointment details and he didn’t show up, we never spoke again. He never bothered to find out the truth.
I was alone as I waited for my scheduled abortion. The clinical waiting room was cold and quiet. I looked around at the other women, waiting in silent grief. But all of them had a support person.
All except me.
And then, I couldn’t do it. Not alone.
So, I left. But the decision was already out of my control…I just didn’t know it yet.
I blink back my tears. I swallow against the panic constricting my throat.
Pulling out my phone, I call Marlowe. She doesn’t answer.
Sighing, I try Abuela. I get her voicemail.
Closing my eyes, I pull in a breath.
You’re fine.
You can do this.
You don’t need anyone.
The words blaze through my mind. A mantra of sorts. One I’ve clung to for years.
But it’s bullshit.
Because right now, I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to do this by myself.
But the joke’s on me. Isn’t this what my future is going to look like?
Even with Niko being as present as possible, he still lives in another country.
He’s not going to be here for the sudden onsets of illnesses.
He’s not going to make every parent-teacher conference, school music concert, or extracurricular games.
I’ll be the default parent in every sense of the word—morning and bedtime routines, organizing play dates and birthday parties, ensuring our child is hitting developmental milestones.
The weight of it all, the worry of it, crashes over me and I hang my head. I’m going to do most of parenthood alone. Or, by relying on the support of my family and friends.
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. Is it too much if I start leaning on that support now, before the baby even arrives?
Because right now, I need someone I trust to get me through this appointment.
To hold my hand in case the unthinkable occurs.
To freeze the barrage of concerns looping through my mind as I spiral.
Vaccination schedules, allergies and food intolerances, interviewing nannies. There’s so much to consider. And the only person left to call is one I shouldn’t. But I’m desperate enough to press his name and my relief unspools when he answers on the first ring.
“B, hey. What’s up?”
I sniffle and mentally swear at myself.
“You okay? What’s wrong?” Andrés demands.
Sucking in a breath, I say, “Andrés, are you busy right now?”
“I’m never too busy for you, B. You know that. Tell me what you need.”
What I need…I almost laugh. I need too much. So fucking much. “I’m at the doctor’s. Today is my big scan and…”
“Let me guess? Karas didn’t fucking show.
” Anger lines Andrés’ tone and even though my gut reaction is to defend Niko—something must have happened, there must be an explanation—I don’t.
Because Andrés’ anger, his indignation on my behalf, soothes a deep pain inside of me.
A pain that’s existed for years. One I still haven’t healed from.
“I don’t want to be alone right now,” I say instead.
“Send me the address. I’ll be right there, sweetheart,” Andrés promises.
“Thank you, Andrés.”
“Always, B.”
I text him the location as soon I end the call. Leaning back in my chair, I breathe a little easier knowing he’s on his way. I won’t have to go through this alone.
Because deep down, I’m terrified that something is wrong. I haven’t felt the baby quicken, the way Marlowe felt flutters at seventeen weeks. I haven’t felt anything other than an emotional train wreck.
Fifteen minutes later, Andrés enters the doctor’s office.
Every woman in the place looks up as he crosses the threshold. Two even gasp.
Andrés, with his chiseled jaw, sandy brown hair, and deep green eyes is stupidly hot. He’s tall, athletically built, and moves with swagger. And then, the way he switches from perfect Castellano to delicious, Australian-accented English in the same sentence makes everyone swoon when he speaks.
But he’s always been my friend. A great friend. Like another brother. Deep down, I know his feelings for me are more complicated and a pang of awareness cuts through me. Am I making things harder for him? Am I blurring lines for him? And shouldn’t I know better?
As he approaches me, I breathe easier and I hate how selfish I’m being in this moment.
“Thank you for coming,” I murmur.
Andrés tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and drops into the seat beside me. He places his hand on top of mine and curls his fingers. “I’ll always show up for you, Bianca. No matter what.”
And I hear the meaning behind his words. He’s here for me regardless of if Niko is in the picture or not.
Right now, I need a friend. Someone who won’t judge me, who will hold my hands, who won’t ask too many questions.
I give Andrés’ hand a little squeeze, expressing my gratitude.
His eyes blaze and his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything else.
When a nurse calls my name, Andrés and I stand together and enter the small room.
“Buenas tardes,” Dr. Fernando says, closing the door behind us. Her eyes widen slightly when she notes Andrés, but she doesn’t comment on the lack of Niko’s presence. Instead, she extends a hand to Andrés. “I’m Dr. Fernando. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Andrés.” He shakes her hand. “Encantado.”
“Andrés is a friend,” I clarify even though no one asked. “A good friend.”
Dr. Fernando nods. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure,” Andrés agrees, giving me a gentle smile.
“How are you feeling, Bianca?” Dr. Fernando asks.
I pull in a breath and admit, “Scared.”
Andrés’ eyebrows knit together as he whips his head toward me.
“I haven’t felt the baby move. I haven’t felt…well, anything,” I explain.
Dr. Fernando smiles gently. “Let’s have a look then. It’s not uncommon at this stage. Some women experience little flutters earlier, some later. Don’t worry.” She eases me back in the examination chair.
As I roll up the hem of my shirt, Andrés moves to stand beside me. But his gaze darts down to my bare stomach, and his expression changes. He looks almost…wistful as he stares at my growing belly. I look away, not wanting to witness his pain even as I savor the comfort his presence provides.
Dr. Fernando squirts the cool gel onto my skin and I wince.
“Perdón.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s cold.”
A few moments and clicks on her keyboard later and she shakes her head. “Everything looks perfect, Bianca. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
As the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat fills the air, tears of relief stream from my eyes.
“Hey, don’t cry. The baby’s fine. You’re okay,” Andrés murmurs, brushing my hair back from my forehead.
I nod. But he can’t understand the magnitude of relief swirling through my body. After the decision, the choice, I agonized over years ago—alone and scared and overwhelmed—and the result of that pregnancy, I convinced myself I would never deserve this chance again. This…miracle.
I’ve never had faith in myself that I would be capable of being a mother. At least, not a good one. Even now, I doubt myself. How am I going to manage everything alone?
“The baby’s okay,” I whisper.
“Growing perfectly,” Dr. Fernando says, pointing at the screen. Then, she walks us through the entire anatomy scan, explaining everything on the monitor, answering all my questions, and putting my mind at ease.
As I note my little bean hopping around on the screen, gratitude like I’ve never experienced swells inside of me.
The baby is okay. I’m fine. And I’m doing this. We’re doing this. One step at a time.
Andrés squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, thankful for his support.
“Do you still want to know the sex of the baby?” Dr. Fernando asks, her eyes cutting to mine.
A pang cuts through my chest, so intense that I gasp and Andrés leans forward in concern.
That was Niko’s choice. A decision I asked him to make.
And a little piece of my heart aches that he’s not here to witness this moment.
I nod. But… “Can you write it down on a piece of paper instead of telling me?” I ask. “I want to learn the sex of the baby with Niko.”
Understanding washes over Dr. Fernando’s face. “Of course.”
Andrés looks away but not before I note the tightness that clenches his jaw.
Even though I’m angry, upset, with Niko, it’s still his baby.
His son or daughter.