“This is your first appointment with us, right?” he asks.


    I nod, suddenly aware of how my heart has picked up. “Yes.”


    “Alright, then I’ll walk you through everything we’re going to do today,” he says, gesturing toward the


    examination table.


    I lie back as he exins the procedure in detail–the gel, the probe, and what we might see and hear.


    “Alright, lift your shirt just above your stomach,” he says gently. “And fair warning, the gel is a bit cold


    When he squeezes it onto my belly, I flinch with augh. “You weren’t kidding.”


    He smiles briefly, then moves the wand over my stomach, watching the monitor with practiced focus. The room is quiet for a beat and then there it is–a soft, rapid thump filling the room. My baby’s heartbeat.


    My chest tightens and my eyes sting with tears. I can’t stop smiling.


    “That’s your baby’s heartbeat,<i>” </i>Adrian says softly.


    Something in me cracks open. My throat tightens, and my eyes blur. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear this until now. My baby is real and not a figment of my imagination or anything like that.


    For a moment it feels like the heavens have opened up for me. I can’t really describe it, can’t put it into


    words, but the feeling is out of this world.


    Dr. Adrian turns the screen toward me. The image sharpens, and I see the tiniest bean–shaped figure. My heart swells, overflowing with a warmth I’ve never felt before.


    I’m in love. Completely, hopelessly in love


    Lord, I’ve never felt like this. I thought I knew love. Thought that I’ve loved. My family, my aunt and


    uncles, Lilly, and Noah, but this is different. This is stronger and much more overwhelming. This is a


    different kind of love. It’s like my heart has been cracked wide open and healed at the same time.


    “You’re about eight weeks along,” Adrian exins, pointing to measurements on the screen. “That means conception likely happened around…” He gives me a date range, and my stomach dips, knowing the date


    very well. “Your due date is inte March.”


    He continues, going over prenatal vitamins, diet rmendations, and my next appointment. When the ultrasound is done, he wipes away the gel, then asks, “Would you like a few printed pictures?”


    “Yes,” I say without hesitation.


    “Alright, wait in the lounge and I’ll get them ready for you.”


    <b>+15 </b>BONUS


    In the waiting room again, I immediately call Mom to tell her everything. The heartbeat, the tiny shape on the screen, the due date. Her joy is so pure I almost cry all over again.


    When my name is called, I head to the desk, pay, and collect the vitamins they’ve prescribed.


    I’m typing a quick message to Lilly when I step outside–when a horn res.


    I look up, just to see a car inches away from me. I close my eyes, waiting for the impact but instead I feel <i>a </i>rush of air and then a firm grip on my arm. I’m pulled back just as the car speeds past.


    My heart ms against my ribs. My breaths areing out raggedly. I close my eyes for a brief second and take a deep breath, just to try to calm my racing heart..


    Fuck, that was so close. I’d almost been hit, and I could have lost my baby all because I wasn’t being careful.


    “Are you okay<b>?</b><b>” </b>


    I look up. It’s Dr. Adrian.


    “Yeah,” I breathe, trying to steady myself. “I was just… a bit distracted.”


    He nods, still holding my gaze. “You forgot these,” he says, holding out the ultrasound photos.


    I take them carefully. “Thank you. For… everything.”


    “It’s nothing. Just be careful out here,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his mouth before he turns back toward the clinic.


    In my car, I take a picture of the ultrasound and send it to Mom first, then my aunts and Lilly. My phone vibrates almost instantly with responses, but I’m already on the road, the image of my little bean burned into my mind.


    When I pull into my driveway, I step out and notice something tucked into the gap of my garage door. A small folded note.


    I open it.


    Two words, written in sharp ck ink:


    Next time.


    A chill runs through me, but I shake it off. Probably some silly prank from neighborhood kids. They’re known to cause trouble. I crumple it, toss it into the trash bin, and head inside, my mind fixed on the little heartbeat I heard today.