Page 120 of Once Upon A Second Chance

“C’mon, Dr. Hogan. Let’s get your blood pressure checked.”

We follow the nurse down the hall into a clean, soft-lit room.

Penny’s weighed, vitals taken, and asked the usual battery of questions. I hover nearby, trying not to loom. The nurse is kind, efficient, and blessedly unbothered by my close presence and constant eye contact.

The door clicks shut behind her, and for a moment we’re alone.

“You’re doing great,” I say, kissing Penny’s temple.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’re doingeverything,” I reply, meaning it more than she probably knows.

She squeezes my hand.

The door opens again, and the OB steps in with a warm smile and a calm, practiced energy that immediately lowers the temperature in my chest. She’s a woman in her mid-forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense bun pinned tight.

“Hi, I’m Susan Elkins, your assigned OB,” she says, reaching out to shake both our hands. “Nice to meet you, Penny. And…?”

“Richard Hogan,” I say, standing. “I’m—well, I’m the father. I’m a little nervous.”

She smiles knowingly. “That’s usually how this works.”

I flush. Penny grins behind her hand.

“I’m also a physician,” I add quickly. “Orthopedic surgeon. New to the area.”

“Ah,” Dr. Elkins says with a small chuckle, sitting down and opening her tablet. “So you’re going to be a question-asking nightmare.”

“I’ll try to be respectful,” I offer, sitting back down beside Penny.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m used to doctors being terrible patients. And worse spouses during OB visits.”

Penny chokes on a laugh.

Dr. Elkins runs through the early pregnancy checklist—asking about symptoms, medical history, previous injuries, supplements, nutrition.Penny answers with quiet confidence, only occasionally looking to me to fill in dates or details she knows I’ve obsessively memorized.

Then comes the ultrasound.

Dr. Elkins squeezes warm gel on Penny’s stomach and starts to move the transducer. I sit forward in my chair, heart thumping louder than I’d like to admit. I didn’t expect it to hit me like this—but then, there it is.

A flicker. A flutter. A pulse of motion on the screen.

“There’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Elkins says, soft but certain. “Nice and steady.”

Penny lets out a breath she’s clearly been holding.

I don’t even try to speak.

The screen shows something tiny and otherworldly, tucked into shadow and flicker. It doesn’tlooklike a baby. Not yet. But it feels like everything.

I clear my throat and finally manage, “Is that—what’s therate?”

“169,” she replies.

“Is that—”

“Normal. Very normal,” she says with practiced patience.