Chapter Fourteen
“Agirl?”
The words come out of my mouth high-pitched and cracking with disbelief, and I’m sitting up on the exam table so fast the paper sheet crinkles violently beneath me.
Hyunwoo, who had been lounging in the chair beside the ultrasound monitor with his ankle crossed over his knee and his phone dangling loosely from one hand, goes completely still.
We’re both staring at the screen where the doctor is pointing with the tip of her stylus at the grainy black-and-white image of our baby.
And it is unmistakably a baby now, not the vague blob of our first ultrasound months ago.
I can make out the gentle curve of a spine, the round shape of a head tucked against the chest, tiny limbs curled tight against the body like she’s hugging herself.
She. The doctor traces the outline of the baby’s profile with the stylus and confirms it again.
She says the baby is, in fact, a girl, and that she looks healthy and sound, perfectly on track for this stage of gestation with all measurements falling within normal range.
Hyunwoo and I glance at each other. His mouth is slightly open, his brows drawn together, the phone forgotten in his slack grip. I look back at the screen, then at the doctor, then back at Hyunwoo.
“But how is that possible?” I ask, my voice still pitched too high.
“With two fathers? He told me it was genetically guaranteed to be a boy.” I jab my thumb at Hyunwoo, who has the decency to look mildly rattled for once in his life.
“Two Y chromosomes, that’s what he said. He never gets science wrong.”
The doctor, a composed woman who has clearly fielded stranger questions in her career, sets her stylus down and folds her hands over the clipboard in her lap.
She explains patiently that while it’s definitely most common for a male alpha and male omega pairing to produce male offspring, every once in a while they can in fact produce females as well, though it’s quite rare.
She goes on to explain that male omegas are thought to carry a latent X chromosome through their reproductive system, a vestigial trait from the omega secondary gender’s unique biology, and then she launches into scientific explanations about chromosomal expression and recessive genetic pathways and epigenetic factors that I lose track of almost immediately.
Something about methylation patterns and hormonal environments in the womb influencing which chromosomes get activated, and how the omega’s body can sometimes override the expected XY outcome through mechanisms that researchers are still studying.
I nod along like I understand any of it. I don’t. Hyunwoo, to his credit, is actually listening with his brow furrowed in concentration, his competitive academic brain clearly bothered by the fact that he got something wrong.
All I understand is that the baby, our baby, is a girl.
The doctor continues talking, going over growth measurements and estimated due dates and scheduling the next appointment, but I’ve stopped listening.
I put both hands over my belly, my palms flat against the stretched fabric of my shirt, and I feel her shift inside me in response to the pressure.
A small rolling movement, like she’s turning over in her sleep.
I marvel at it, at her. A baby girl. I’m baffled and awed all at once, my brain trying to merge the image I’d been building in my head for weeks, the little boy with Hyunwoo’s sharp eyes and my stubborn jaw, with this new reality. A daughter. I’m having a daughter.
The shock of the discovery follows me home.
I walk through the apartment with Machete and Kal on my heels as usual, both dogs clicking along behind me on the hardwood as I drift from room to room, absently rubbing my belly with one hand while my mind reels.
I imagine a little girl running around this apartment, her bare feet slapping the floor, climbing over the dogs who would lie there and take it with the patient tolerance they show me now.
Her hair tied back in little pigtails, laughing at something, that high bright sound that kids make when they’re delighted by something simple.
I picture her with Hyunwoo’s angular features softened into something rounder, smaller, feminine.
With my flat brown eyes that crinkle at the corners.
I find myself on my phone, settled into the deep armchair in my room with Machete curled at my feet.
I’m looking up how to braid hair. I don’t know why, exactly, since the baby won’t have enough hair to braid for years, but my fingers are moving on their own, scrolling through images of little girls’ hairstyles and pinning them to a private folder on my phone.
Dutch braids with ribbons woven through them, fishtail plaits that look impossibly intricate, simple two-strand twists with little flower clips at the ends.
I watch a tutorial video of a father braiding his daughter’s hair before school, his big hands fumbling with the tiny elastic bands while the girl chatters about her friends.
I catch myself twenty minutes deep into a second tutorial, this one about how to do a waterfall braid on fine toddler hair, and I shake myself out of it. I lock my phone and set it face-down on the armrest, feeling foolish.
Later, curious about the unusual silence from Hyunwoo’s end of the apartment, I go looking for him.
He’s been suspiciously quiet since we got home from the clinic, disappearing down the hallway while I was settling onto the couch, and I haven’t heard a sound from him in over an hour.
That’s never a good sign. A quiet Hyunwoo is a scheming Hyunwoo.
I find him in the spare bedroom. The room that’s been slowly transforming over the past weeks from a generic guest space into something more intentional, though we haven’t talked about it directly.
Hyunwoo’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his gold watch pushed high on his forearm, and he’s standing in the middle of the room staring at a wall that has a row of paint sample strips taped to it in a neat line.
Soft yellows, pale pinks, warm lavenders, creamy whites.
Each strip is labeled in Hyunwoo’s sharp handwriting with the brand name and color code.
I lean against the doorframe, one hand supporting my lower back where it aches from the walk down the hallway, and watch him for a moment before he notices me.
He’s got that look on his face, the one he gets when he’s deep in a project, his cutting brown eyes narrowed and his jaw set with focus. All-in. Obsessive. Thorough.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Hyunwoo turns and gestures at the room with both hands, sweeping his arms wide to encompass the paint strips, the furniture catalogues spread open on the floor, the tape measure lying across the windowsill.
“Well, this changes things now, doesn’t it?
” he says, already three steps ahead and building momentum.
“These colors are too dark for a girl.” He points at the strips on the wall, frowning at a sage green that I thought looked perfectly fine.
“And we’ll have to rethink the furniture.
The angular modern pieces I ordered won’t work, they’re too sharp, too cold.
She needs something softer, rounder.” He picks up one of the catalogues from the floor and flips it open to a dog-eared page showing a sleek minimalist dresser in dark wood.
“See? This was for a boy’s room. It doesn’t fit anymore. ”
He drops the catalogue and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further.
“And the baby clothes all need to be reordered. Everything I bought was for a boy. Blues and greens and little suits.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling, presumably through his order history, his thumb moving fast. “I’ll cancel what hasn’t shipped yet and start over. ”
I watch him, amused by the intensity of his contemplation. I shift my weight against the doorframe, easing the pressure on my lower back, and ask quietly, “Are you happy it’s a girl?”
Hyunwoo’s head jerks up, his eyes meeting mine, and he blinks in surprise like the question caught him off guard.
His mouth opens and closes. He fumbles, his hand still holding the phone mid-scroll, and says, “I…” Then his face softens, the sharp edges of his usual confidence rounding out, and he smiles.
“Yeah, actually,” he says. “I am.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and lets out a breath that sounds almost sheepish.
“I’ll admit I have absolutely no idea what to do for a girl.
I’m completely unprepared. Every bit of research I’ve done has been geared toward boys, and I’m going to have to do a hell of a lot more homework.
” He looks around the room at his paint strips and catalogues and tape measure, at the evidence of plans that now need to be rebuilt from scratch, and shrugs with a rueful grin. “But yeah. I’m happy.”
I nod, holding his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then I turn to leave him to his fussing, thinking with private amusement that omegas are supposed to be the ones who nest. But I’m smirking as I waddle back down the hallway, one hand on my belly, Machete trotting faithfully at my heels.
Two days later I’m playing video games on the couch, my controller balanced on the shelf of my belly, the only flat surface readily available to me at this point, Machete wedged against my side with her head on my thigh.
Kal is sprawled across the floor in front of the TV, occasionally lifting his head to watch the on-screen explosions before settling back down with a sigh.
I’m deep into the campaign mode of the game Hyunwoo and I have been working through together, trying to clear the level that’s been giving me trouble for a week, when the door lock beeps and the front door swings inward with a loud thump.