Chapter 12
MOLLY
Iwake up with my cheek pressed against Samuil’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing nudging me back into the world. It takes me a second to remember where I am, but once I do, the warmth in my stomach settles deep and sure.
Samuil knows about the baby now and he seems genuinely happy about it, which is a relief.
My stomach does a little somersault as I remember his expression.
I place my hand low on my belly without thinking.
I know it’s too early to feel anything, but I imagine my baby there, sleeping soundly and feeling safe.
He or she is already so loved, in a way that I never was.
I take a deep breath to keep the tears at bay.
I’ll never let my child go one day without knowing how much I love them.
For a moment, I don’t move, letting myself feel the weight of Samuil’s hand resting on my hip. It’s strange how easy this already feels. It’s like I pressed a button and all of a sudden, we were a cozy couple.
It’s actually a little alarming. I don’t know what to do with a relationship like this. I’ve never experienced this kind of affection before, and I’m sure I’m going to ruin it.
I try to sit up slowly so I don’t wake him, but his arm tightens around me.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice low and sleep-rough.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure,” he answers hoarsely. “It must be close to noon. We might as well stay in bed for the rest of the day.”
He shoots me a seductive grin, and I can’t help but giggle. It’s a tempting offer, but I can’t. My nerves are buzzing too much. I’m supposed to see my OB-GYN this afternoon. It’s my first ultrasound, and I’m dying to see my baby and hear its heartbeat for the first time.
“I should probably get up, actually,” I say quietly.
He finally opens his eyes, studying me carefully. I think he’s looking for any signs of regret or fear. The last couple of days have been a lot for both of us.
“You don’t have to rush,” he says.
“I do, actually.” I sigh. “I have an ultrasound at three.”
He nods once, brushes a strand of hair from my face, and lets me go.
I make my way to the bathroom, trying not to overthink the strange mixture of comfort and tension swirling inside me.
After a long shower and several attempts to calm my nerves, I join him in the kitchen, where he’s already dressed and drinking coffee.
He watches me over the rim of his mug, like he’s making sure I’m really okay.
“Can I come?” he asks carefully.
“Of course,” I say, feeling the warmth spread through me. We eat a quiet lunch and then he calls for his car.
The drive to the clinic is quiet. He holds my hand, brushing his thumb slowly back and forth over my skin like a mantra. I look out the window, trying to keep my breathing slow.
“Are you nervous?” Samuil asks softly.
“I’m not sure.” I swallow. “Maybe a little bit? This appointment will make everything real.”
He nods once. “I can’t wait to see our baby,” he says, awe in his voice.
The certainty in his voice surprises me. It’s steady and grounded and sure, and it settles something wobbly inside me.
At the clinic, he stays close to me. He holds my hand while I check in, sits beside me in the waiting room, and asks me lots of questions about myself while I fill out forms. When the nurse calls my name, he rises with me immediately, one hand resting gently on my lower back as if guiding me.
Once we’re in the exam room, the nurse steps out to give me a moment to change. Samuil steps back and faces the window to give me privacy. It should feel awkward, but it’s strangely sweet and respectful.
When the doctor comes in, she greets me warmly, then looks at Samuil. “Are you the father?”
“I am,” he confirms, beaming with pride.
I sit on the exam table, paper rustling under me. Samuil steps closer so he’s right beside me. He doesn’t take my hand yet, but he’s there to support me in every way I’ll let him.
“All right,” the doctor says gently. “Let’s see how your little one’s doing.”
Samuil’s hand finally finds mine, warm and firm.
We wait for a moment with bated breath before a fast, rhythmic thumping fills the room. The steady thump, thump makes my pulse spike. The world narrows to that single sound. My baby. Our baby.
I cover my mouth with my free hand, tears springing up instantly. I can’t help it. I can’t stop them. The heartbeat is so strong and clear, it knocks the breath right out of me.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
Samuil makes a choked noise, and I try to examine his face, but he’s leaning so close to the monitor that it’s hard for me to see. He’s completely tuned in to the image on the screen.
“That’s our baby,” he says, voice thick.
My heart leaps again. He is so genuinely happy, and I’m not sure how to process that after being so worried he’d reject it. He looks like his whole world has been turned upside down in the best possible way.
He hangs onto our doctor’s every word as she talks through measurements, target dates, and next steps. I hear pieces of it, but most of me is locked on Samuil’s face, the awe there, the softness, the unguarded hope.
When the doctor steps out to let me clean up, the room feels strange and quiet. Samuil doesn’t move at first. He just sits next to me, still processing what we’ve just witnessed. When he does look at me, there’s such a big, goofy grin on his face that I can’t help but laugh.
No one has ever looked at me like that in my life. He leans down to kiss me, and I let him, because that’s easier than talking. I can at least pretend to know what I’m doing when my lips are against his. The feelings part is much harder to navigate.
“That was really something, huh?” he asks in amazement.
I nod, even though my throat is tight. “It really was,” I manage, not sure what else to say.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that,” he says quietly. “I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest.”
My chest tightens so sharply I have to steady myself. He looks at me like I’ve given him something he didn’t know he was missing. Something he’s terrified to lose.
When we walk out into the hallway, he rests a hand on the small of my back. I lean into it without thinking.
He stops at the exit. “We’re not going home yet.”
I blink at him. “We’re not?”
He gives me a look that’s almost shy, even though nothing about Samuil is shy.
“There’s something I want to get,” he says mysteriously.
We walk across the street to a little boutique filled with baby blankets and knitted toys. I don’t know why, but the second we step inside, I feel like the floodgates have opened. It takes everything in me not to burst into tears.
“We should pick out a gift for our baby,” he says softly.
“We could do this after every appointment, like a little ritual. Then, when he or she gets older, we can tell them, ‘We got this when we heard your heartbeat. We picked this out when we found out you were a boy or girl.’ Or is that too cheesy?”
He grimaces, like he’s just revealed more of himself than he meant to. I grab his hand and squeeze, because it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I love that idea,” I tell him, and I mean it.
I walk slowly through the store, fingers brushing tiny hats and soft plush animals. There’s a knitted cream-colored hat with two little ears. I stop in front of it without meaning to. Something about the simplicity of it pulls at me.
“You like that one?” Samuil asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Me too.” He nods.
He takes it off the hook and brings it to the register, paying before I can reach for my wallet.
Outside, the air is cold enough to sting my cheeks. I hold the little hat in both hands, staring at it. It’s so unbelievably tiny, and in eight or so months, there will be a baby to wear it. How can anything so tiny and delicate even exist? How can I protect it?
“Are you okay?” Samuil asks, concern in his voice. “We can take it back and get something else if you’ve decided you don’t like it. Whatever you want.”
“No,” I protest. “It’s perfect. Today’s been perfect. I didn’t expect it to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“I…” I breathe slowly, trying to ground myself. “I thought that if I ever got to do this, I would be doing this all alone,” I finally admit. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel like I had a real family.”
He immediately steps into my orbit, watching me with a look so tender it makes my heart shatter.
“We are,” he says quietly. “We’re a family.”
I swallow hard and look down again because if I keep looking at him, I’m going to fall apart right there on the sidewalk.
In the car, the heater hums quietly, filling the space with warmth that seeps into my clothes and my bones.
I settle into the seat and smooth my thumb over the tiny knitted hat resting in my lap.
It shouldn’t make my chest ache the way it does, but something about holding it makes the baby feel so much more real.
Samuil keeps one hand on my thigh, his thumb stroking absentmindedly back and forth.
I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, but the steady repetition calms the last of the nerves rattling through me.
The movement is gentle and protective in a way that catches me off guard.
I’m not used to anyone offering me comfort without expecting something in return.
The motion of the car, the warm air, and the emotional crash from the appointment blend together until my body loosens its grip on the tension I’ve been holding.
I lean toward him without thinking, resting my head on his shoulder.
For a second he goes still, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull back.
When I don’t, he tilts his head just enough that his temple brushes my hair.
His hand tightens slightly on my thigh, a quiet acknowledgment of the shift between us.