Page 9

Chapter Nine: Jade

T he first flutter of nerves hit me as I slid into the maternity leggings, their soft stretch a reminder of the life growing inside me. I pulled on a white cut-off shirt that hugged my burgeoning belly, a stark white canvas for the future written in the curves of my body.

I couldn’t escape from the fact that Dante had been the one to buy me these clothes…but damn, they were fancy and comfortable. The man might’ve been a little crazy, but he definitely had refined taste.

“Okay, Jade, this is it,” I muttered to myself, checking my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair framed my face, the waves serving as a gentle armor for what lay ahead. My scientific mind knew all the statistics and probabilities, but the mother-to-be in me thrived on the unknown, the emotion that couldn’t be quantified.

The clinic in Harbor Cove wouldn’t see me. They were booked up, and I wasn’t a high risk patient. I didn’t want to go back to the city…but St. Mary’s Hospital in New York City beckoned me with its sterile halls and state-of-the-art facilities—a familiar place from my past life, one that had nothing to do with Dante or the perilous love that bound us.

It was a risk, returning to the city that never sleeps, where every shadow could be an enemy in disguise. But risks were part of the equation now, and I was determined to ensure the best for my child—even if it meant facing my own fears head-on.

I just had to keep my head down. That was all I had to do.

I opted to rent a car–it had been a long time since I had to drive every day, but I enjoyed it, and it would be easier to get away if I needed to.

And so, with the decision made, I set out from Harbor Cove, where the harmonious cries of seagulls and the soothing rhythm of the ocean were about to be replaced by the relentless heartbeat of NYC.

“Please, let this go smoothly,” I whispered, not to any god in particular, but to the universe that held my fragile world in its hands.

The rental car’s engine hummed—a subtle, yet steady reminder that I was in motion, leaving behind the serene embrace of Harbor Cove. My fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel as I navigated the transitions from quaint coastal roads to the more assertive lanes of traffic drawing me back into the city’s clutches.

In an attempt to blend in with the throngs of vehicles on the interstate, I kept the car at a precise speed, neither too fast to become a beacon for highway patrol nor too slow to attract curious glances. The familiar skyline rose in the distance, tall buildings piercing the sky like needles, and my heart hammered against my chest with a cadence that mirrored the increasing pace of the city life I was approaching.

I found solace in the anonymity provided by the sunglasses perched on my nose and the baseball cap pulled low over my eyes. Each glance in the rearview mirror showed a sea of strangers—people blissfully unaware of the cargo I carried within me. The drive demanded a level of alertness that was almost exhausting, each passing mile a potential threat that I had to anticipate and outmaneuver.

As I edged closer to New York City, the soundscape evolved from the melodic whispers of the ocean to the cacophony of honking horns and the rhythmic thumping of construction. With every stoplight and intersection, I felt the tightening grip of the city—an intricate tango between freedom and entrapment where every step mattered.

“Keep it together, Jade,” I murmured to myself, using my reflection in the window as an anchor to the present moment. The city was a chessboard once, but now, I was playing a different game—one where the stakes were no longer just my own life but the fragile beginnings of another.

When the hospital’s imposing structure finally came into view, nestled among the concrete giants, I let myself feel some relief. But that relief was fleeting; the real challenge awaited inside. But for now, I parked the car in the shadow of St. Mary’s, and told myself everything was going to be just fine.

The door swung open with a click that echoed down the sterile corridor, less welcoming than necessary. I stepped across the threshold of St. Mary’s Hospital, shrouded in anonymity beneath my hat and sunglasses—a flimsy disguise against a world I once navigated with confidence. The obstetrics department was located on the third floor, according to the receptionist who barely glanced up from her novel as I inquired.

“Third floor, take a left off the elevator,” she had said without looking up. “Can’t miss it.”

I followed her directions, the tap of my boots against the polished floor counting out a steady rhythm that matched my racing heart. Anticipation twisted into a nervous coil in my stomach in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. This was a different kind of fear—a mother’s concern, protective and primal.

I reached the waiting area, a room buzzing with the low drone of shared expectancy. My gaze swept over the space, drinking in the sight of round bellies and glowing faces. Some women sat alone, engrossed in magazines or their phones, while others chatted animatedly with partners or family members. Laughter punctuated the air like soft notes in a tender melody, while children’s squeals underscored the domestic symphony.

The soundscape was a comforting cacophony: the rustle of pages turning, the murmur of conversations swirling with hope and anxiety, and the occasional name called by a nurse, each summons cutting through the gentle hum. It was an orchestra of life, each participant unknowingly playing their part in the universal score of creation.

I found an empty seat by the window, tucking myself away from the center of activity—close enough to observe but far enough to remain a spectator. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting geometric patterns on the floor and warming my face. I watched a couple holding hands, their fingers intertwined.

Maybe, in another universe, that could’ve been Dante and I.

I hated that I missed him. I hated how much I missed him.

“Jade Bentley?” A voice eventually called out, slicing through my reverie.

I rose, feeling every eye in the room briefly flicker towards me before returning to their own stories. The walk to the examination room felt like crossing a bridge between two worlds: one filled with unknowns, and the other brimming with the promise of life yet to unfold.

I stepped through the threshold of the examination room, a sterile sanctuary where life’s earliest whispers were first acknowledged. There was no time for hesitation; my heart throbbed with purpose for the tiny life within me.

“Jade Bentley?” Dr. Pineda, greeted me with a warm yet competent smile that belied the countless hours she’d dedicated to the welfare of mothers-to-be. Her eyes, sharp and knowing behind wire-framed glasses, scanned me quickly, assessing without judgment.

“Dr. Pineda,” I replied, extending a hand that she enveloped in her own—reassuring and steady. Her grip was firm.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” she suggested, gesturing toward the examination table draped with crisp paper that crinkled under my weight as I sat down. Dr. Pineda moved with quiet efficiency, gathering her tools of trade: the blood pressure cuff, a tape measure, and the Doppler for the baby’s heartbeat.

“Bit of a tight squeeze in these leggings,” I joked, trying to ease the tension knotting my stomach.

“Comfort is key,” she returned, chuckling lightly as she wrapped the cuff around my arm. “Blood pressure first.” The machine emitted a low whirr, squeezing rhythmically.

“Looks good,” she confirmed and jotted down the reading on my chart. She then applied a dollop of cold gel to my abdomen, making me flinch. “Sorry, it’s always a bit chilly.”

“No problem,” I murmured, my focus narrowing to the handset she moved in small circles over my skin. We both held our breaths, waiting.

Then, there it was—the galloping rhythm of a tiny heart that thundered like a hopeful drumbeat within the room. My own heart echoed the sound, a syncopated beat of life and love twining together.

The wand glided over my abdomen, and each pass amplified the surreal symphony inside me—a steady beat that surged through the air with a life force all its own. The digital heart monitor punctuated the silence of the room, an audible affirmation of the new life I was responsible for. Excitement bubbled up in me, mingling with a sudden twinge of anxiety as I pondered the weight of motherhood.

“Everything okay?” she asked, catching the flicker of concern in my eyes.

“More than okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s just... this is all becoming so real.”

“Understandable,” she replied, her demeanor reassuring. “You’re about to embark on one of the most challenging, yet rewarding journeys of your life.”

“Rewards mixed with sleepless nights and endless worries, I presume?” I quipped, trying to mask the gravity of my thoughts with humor.

“Exactly,” Dr. Pineda chuckled, removing her gloves. “But remember, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed at times. What matters is that you’re not alone in this. Do you have any questions or concerns? Anything you want to discuss?”

I hesitated, the list of uncertainties running through my mind like a ticker tape. “How do I prepare for something like this? Being a parent—especially under... unconventional circumstances.”

“Focus on what you can control,” she advised, sitting down beside me. “Start with the basics. Nutrition, rest, avoiding stress—which I know may be easier said than done for you.”

“Stress seems to have taken a liking to me,” I admitted with a wry grin.

“Let’s tackle it together then,” she offered, her voice firm but kind. “We’ll monitor you closely, make sure you’re both healthy. And if anything concerns you, no matter how small it may seem, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Dr. Pineda,” I said, truly grateful for her support. “That means more to me than you might realize.”

She nodded. “It’s surprisingly common, y’know. Women breaking up with their partners after they finally manage to get pregnant. Makes it more challenging, but…it’s not impossible. Millions of women do it every single day. You can do this. And we’re here for you. You should remember that.”

I had no idea how she realized that was sort of what I was struggling with, but I supposed it really must have been very common.

“Actually, there is one thing you could help me with” I said, my curiosity wrestling with the trepidation that had taken root in the pit of my stomach. “The genetic testing... I haven’t checked the results. I’ve been worried about...I didn’t want to go online because I don’t want my ex to see that I checked the results.”

Dr. Pineda raised an eyebrow, her expression a blend of concern and professionalism. “I can assure you our patient confidentiality is stringent. But I understand your apprehension given your situation. There’s some literature I can give you which you might find valuable. There’s also a domestic violence hotline–”

That practically made me wince. I had no idea how I could begin to explain to her that this wasn’t domestic violence. All I could do was nod, feeling numb.

“Can we go over them now?” My voice was steadier than I felt, a testament to years of training myself to maintain composure under scrutiny.

“Of course.” She pulled up my file on her tablet, swiping through screens with deft fingers. “Everything looks normal. No indicators for common genetic conditions. Would you like to know the sex?”

My heart skipped, but I managed a nod. This information was a tangible link to the life growing inside me—a life entwined with Dante’s whether I liked it or not.

“It’s a boy,” she said softly, watching my face closely for a reaction.

A boy. A tiny surge of wonder eclipsed my fears. Images of a small version of Dante, with his dark hair and maybe even his guarded eyes, flickered across my mind. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Jade?” her voice brought me back.

“Sorry, I just...” I trailed off, unsure how to express the storm of emotions swirling within me.

“Take all the time you need,” she reassured me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whispered, touching my belly as if to connect with the little boy whose heartbeat had become the most significant sound in my world.

Dr. Pineda left, and I lingered in the quiet of the exam room, fingers tracing a path over my belly, where the thrum of a tiny heartbeat resonated like a secret promise. A boy. Dante’s son. My son. The reality of it hung heavy in the air, thick as the winter clouds outside the hospital window.

I had no idea whether I should tell Dante. I had no idea how I would even tell him.

But for the time being, this knowledge was mine. Only mine.

And, right then, that felt good enough that I didn’t want to change it. Even if I wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to do.