Page 108 of Babies for the Big Shot

But I can barely focus.

This should be a milestone. A moment I carry with me forever.

Instead, it’sstolen.

Someone should be here beside me, holding my hand, asking questions, whispering that everything will be okay.

But he’s not.

And I’m starting to wonder if he ever will be.

The doctor dims the lights, and the soft hum of the machine fills the silence. The gel is cold against my skin, making me flinch, but then I hear it…

The heartbeat.

Fast. Fluttery. Alive.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I hear it again. And then I exhale, my eyes stinging.

“There we go,” the doctor murmurs, smiling as she turns the monitor toward me. “That’s your baby.”

My baby.

My heart twists in my chest, a strange, overwhelming ache I wasn’t ready for. I press a hand to my mouth as the tiny shape flickers on the screen.

It doesn’t even look like a baby yet, not really, just a small, blinking bean of light. But it’s there.

Inside me.

Alive.

I think of my mom. Of the quiet strength she wore every day. Of the years she spent doing this alone. And suddenly, I get it.

The sacrifice. The courage. The love.

A wave crashes over me. Hot, silent tears trace their way down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying. The doctor says nothing, just offers a tissue with a gentle smile, as if she’s witnessed this moment countless times before.

“I know it’s a lot,” she says gently.

I nod, wiping my face. “It’s just… real now.”

She smiles again and moves the wand slightly, frowning in concentration. “Let’s get a couple more measurements…”

I watch the screen, my breathing slowly returning to normal. For the first time in days, something inside me settles. It’s not peace, exactly. But it’s something close.

Until she stills.

Her brow furrows. She moves the wand again.

“Hmm.”

My stomach clenches. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not wrong,” she says quickly, her voice still calm but more alert now. “Just… unexpected.”

She clicks something on the monitor. Shifts the angle again. Tilts her head.

My skin prickles.