Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Dr. Greene chuckles briefly before seeming to remember who he’s dealing with. His spine straightens before he clears his throat, suddenly serious. “I’m afraid not. It’s a little early for that yet. Give it several more weeks, and we’ll have a better idea.” He moves the wand around and clicks the keyboard a few times. “It does look like we’re right around twelve weeks, according to the development. Everything seems to be in order here.” He asks me a few more questions about how I’m feeling, whether I’m spotting, and if there’s any cramping. When I tell him everything seems fine, he appears satisfied.
Enzo, on the other hand, is not. “She’s healthy? They both are? No problems?”
“None, Mr. De Luca, though I would be glad to schedule blood work to be on the safe side.”
“Why can’t you take blood now?” Even I cringe at the way he sounds. The poor doctor almost jumps out of his white coat.
“I-I would prefer your wife fast in advance. We could do it as soon as tomorrow morning.”
“That would be fine.” I look up at Enzo, who nods, satisfied.
The whole thing doesn’t take more than ten minutes, with him finishing up by advising me to get rest and giving me information on diet, vitamins, and ways to help with the morning sickness. Otherwise, he leaves me with a printout from the ultrasound—granted, it doesn’t look like much, but I can’t help feeling like it’s the most precious thing anyone’s ever given me. Baby’s first picture. Maybe I should start a scrapbook.
After all, if Enzo decides to take the baby and send me off somewhere, I’ll want something to remember them by.
“You aren’t the first father to worry like this,” the doctor assures him. I want to tell him not to get the wrong idea, that he’s not freaking out like this out of love.
God, I wish this could all be different. I wish I could look at him with a loving smile and know his concern was out of caring and tenderness. Luckily, the men are too busy talking to each other to notice me struggling to keep my emotions in check. I have a grip on myself by the time we leave, and I thank the nurse one last time before we go. Poor woman. I’m sure she didn’t feel like coming in early.
“See?” I venture as we leave. “Everything’s fine. We don’t have anything to worry about, and now we know for sure how far along I am. Twelve weeks.”
“There’s a long way to go. Seems like forever.” For somebody who just got good news, he sounds awfully grumpy.
I knew this was how it was going to be, didn’t I? I have no right to act surprised now. It’s not like he ever lied about the way this was going to go. He only wants to know how long it will be before he gets his heir.
I might as well not even be here.
The photo is in my lap as I sit in the passenger seat, staring down at it. I want more for you, I tell my baby, as tears blur my vision to the point where I can’t see anymore. They roll down my cheeks and drip onto my shirt while Enzo drives, oblivious.
It isn’t until I can’t help but sniffle that he notices. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Are you sick?”
“No!” I didn’t mean to shout it, but I’m almost glad I did. I’m tired of having to hold everything back and pretend anything about this is normal. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Then what is it?”
“Hormones, I guess. Don’t worry about it.” I turn to look out the window, knowing I should stop but knowing I can’t. This is supposed to be a happy time. All I want is for us to be happy together, like a normal couple. Why do I have to want him like I do? I hate myself for it. He’s never going to care.
“Hey.” He pulls over and puts the car in park before touching my leg. “Are you sure nothing else is going on? What do you need? Are you hungry? Or just tired?”
“Both of those things.”
“We can take care of that.” My head bobs up and down because I don’t trust myself to try to speak. He’s so clueless. And I’m too afraid to set him straight.
“I just want—” No, I can’t say it. I can’t bring myself to put it into words.
“It’s going to be okay.” His awkward, unpracticed attempts at offering comfort make me feel worse than ever. We may as well be on two different planets; we’re so out of sync.
“I just want to be happy,” I finally whisper, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.
“You will be.” If only it were that easy. “Come here.” He pulls me in for a tight, warm hug—and when he doesn’t let go right away, another spark of hope flares to life. I close my eyes, bury my face in his shoulder, and cry for everything I’m missing. Everything we’re missing. He can’t even give in to happiness over being a father because he’s too busy thinking about what it does for his position, his business. I don’t know who I feel worse for as fresh tears begin to flow.