19. Rowan #3
Serena arranges an ultrasound in the same office. Nobody fills the waiting time with reassurance I didn't ask for. I change, lie back, then turn toward the monitor when Serena begins the examination.
The room is dim enough for the screen to stand out. Serena adjusts the controls, checks one measurement, then changes the angle.
I watch her rather than the monitor. "What are you seeing?"
She points toward the screen. "This is one gestational sac."
Harper reaches for my hand.
Serena shifts the image. "This is the second."
I stare at the screen. My brain keeps trying to turn the picture into something simpler, one fact at a time, except Serena is already moving again.
A third dark space appears.
"No."
Serena looks directly at me. "Yes."
Harper closes her fingers around mine while Serena measures before explaining further. She labels the images A, B, and C, checking each one separately. Then she lets us hear the heartbeats.
The first fills the room, fast and steady.
Serena adjusts the machine, and a second rhythm follows.
Then there is a third.
Three heartbeats.
I stop looking at Serena and stare at the monitor.
She finishes the measurements before turning the screen slightly more toward me. "Three separate sacs and three separate placentas. This is a trichorionic triamniotic triplet pregnancy. They're measuring appropriately at approximately eleven weeks gestation."
A, B, and C remain on the screen.
Triplets.
I understand the word. I understand every individual word Serena used. Making any of them belong to me takes longer.
Harper is crying beside me. She wipes her cheek and keeps hold of my hand.
I'm scared enough that I need another minute before I speak, but fear isn't the only thing happening.
I picture Erik standing at the stove while I study, sitting on the bathroom floor in an expensive suit because I was sick, and tearing up a schedule because I told him it wasn't his to make.
I picture him stopping in the gym because I looked at him.
I picture the way he stayed beside me last night without turning care into an order.
Three babies will change every piece of our lives.
I want them.
I don't have to argue myself into that answer. I already know I want these babies, and every time I try to picture what comes after this room, Erik is there too.
Serena moves through the practical information while I keep looking at the monitor. "Triplet pregnancies require closer monitoring. We'll watch growth, blood pressure, cervical length, and signs of preterm labor. You'll have more frequent imaging."
"They're okay today?" I keep my attention on the three labels because looking away seems impossible.
"Yes. Today, all three measurements are appropriate."
My eyes start burning. I blink until the screen clears again.
After the examination, Serena explains testing options while I clean the gel from my abdomen.
She pulls the stool closer to the counter and shows me the information sheet.
"With cell-free DNA screening, fetal-sex information is limited in a multiple pregnancy.
If Y-chromosome material is detected, we know at least one fetus is male.
It won't identify which fetus or give us the sex of all three. "
I pull my shirt down. "If there's no Y?"
"Then all three are female."
"If there is?"
"At least one boy. Imaging later gives us the individual answers."
I choose the screening after Serena finishes explaining the limitations. Harper studies the ultrasound printouts while I dress, turning the strip carefully without touching the image surface.
At reception, Serena gives me a plain envelope containing the first photographs and another packet for the lab work. The medical forms remain routine until I reach the emergency-contact section.
I write Erik Danilov.
The relationship line waits beneath it.
I write partner.
The next question asks whether my emergency contact has authorization for medical disclosure if I'm unable to communicate. My pen stays above the box for several seconds before I check yes.
Harper reads the form from beside me and wisely keeps her opinion to herself.
I sign it.
When Serena returns with the next appointment date, I put the ultrasound envelope into my bag. "I need this private."
Serena closes the chart. "It is."
"I mean Erik." I look at Harper too. "Nobody tells him. I will."
Harper zips her bag. "I won't."
Serena reads the disclosure authorization before adding the paperwork to my chart. "You tell him when you're ready. If there's an emergency and you can't communicate, this gives me permission to speak with him."
"I know."
I chose the box.
Outside, Harper walks beside me without asking what I'm going to say to him. The afternoon traffic moves past the clinic, students cut across the corner toward campus, and my bag feels completely ordinary against my shoulder despite the ultrasound photographs inside it.
Erik's name is on the form behind us.
Yesterday, I almost told him I love him while he sat on a bathroom floor.
Today, I have three more words to give him.
We're having triplets.