Page 31 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“Some. He’s cautious about details, but he’s been more open lately. I think he’s trying to earn my trust.”
Her next question requires honesty I’m not sure I’m ready to face. “Is it working?”
“Yes. It terrifies me, because trusting him means accepting things about his world that I’m not sure I can live with.” I clench my hands in my lap. “Yet not trusting him feels like losing out on something rare and precious.”
The urgency care clinic appears ahead of us, a modest building with the neutral architecture. My stomach lurches with fresh anxiety as Harper parks, and I wonder if this is what courage feels like, moving forward despite being terrified of what you might discover.
She turns off the engine and looks at me. “Ready?”
I shake my head honestly. “No, but let’s do it anyway.”
The waiting room is exactly what I expected, with neutral colors, outdated magazines, and the particular hush that comes with medical spaces. I fill out forms with trembling hands while Harper sits beside me, radiating protective energy that reminds me why our friendship has survived everything life has thrown at us.
A nurse in cheerful scrubs calls my name after what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes. “Willa Reynolds?”
The examination room is small and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and latex gloves. I change into the provided gown while Harper waits outside, my hands shaking as I try to process what’s about to be confirmed.
Dr. Morrison, a woman in her fifties with soft eyes and gentle hands, joins me a few minutes later. She asks questions about my symptoms while drawing blood for testing.
Once finished, she sits back in her chair after completing the physical exam. “Based on what you’ve told me about your cycle and symptoms, I’d say pregnancy is very likely, but we’ll need the blood work to confirm and establish how far along you might be.”
That sounds so certain, making me unsure if I’d prefer not to know, but that opportunity has passed. “How long for results?”
“About thirty minutes for a qualitative test, which will tell you yes or no. We’ll send off a sample for hCG results to make sure the levels are where they should be as well, which will take two or three days. You can wait here or in the main waiting room for today’s results.”
I choose the waiting room, settling into the uncomfortable chair beside hers while my mind races through possibilities I didn’t imagine I’d have to consider. Thirty minutes feels like an eternity when waiting for news that could reshape my entire existence.
Harper reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Whatever the results, we’ll figure it out. I’m here for you.”
I bite my lower lip, finally asking softly, “What if I’m not strong enough to handle a baby and everything else that’s happening?”
Her voice carries the confidence of someone who’s seen me survive impossible things. “Impossible. You survived foster care, built a career, inherited a business, and you’re navigating a relationship with a dangerous man. If you can handle all that, you can handle parenthood.”
The logic is sound, but logic feels inadequate when faced with the magnitude of potential change. A baby would be innocent,vulnerable, and dependent on decisions I make. I’m smart, but I can’t see into the future.
Dr. Morrison appears in the waiting room doorway, holding a manila folder that contains my immediate future. “Willa Reynolds?”
I nod to Harper to come along this time, so we follow her back to an office, where she closes the door and settles behind her desk. Her voice is warm but professional. “The test is positive. You’re pregnant, probably about eight to ten weeks based on when you remember having your last period. The quantitative results will give us a better idea of viability, but there’s no reason to think you aren’t having a healthy pregnancy.”
The confirmation hits differently than expected. It’s not shock, exactly, but a settling of certainty that makes everything else fall into sharp focus. Eight to ten weeks. Split the difference, and that dates back to my first encounter with Iskander.
Dr. Morrison studies my face with professional concern. “Are you all right?”
I reach for Harper’s hand, needing the anchor of her presence. “Yes, I think so. What happens now?”
“We can discuss your options, or I can refer you to a doctor or midwife for follow-up care if you choose to continue the pregnancy. There’s no rush to make any decisions today.”
I respond without hesitation. “I’m continuing the pregnancy. That’s not negotiable. I don’t really know how I want to see, so can you pick someone?”
She nods. “I’ll get a referral for you before you leave for a friend of mine. Dr. Layton is an excellent obstetrician. I’ll send yourfile ahead and ask her to see you within two weeks for a more comprehensive examination and to discuss prenatal care. Do you have questions about the early stages of pregnancy?”
The rest of the appointment passes in a blur of medical information. Harper takes notes while I try to process the reality of carrying Iskander’s child and building something new and fragile while surrounded by dangers I’m only beginning to understand.
We leave the clinic ten minutes later with a folder full of pamphlets and a business card for Dr. Layton, so I can call her to make an appointment. That makes everything official. The afternoon sun feels too bright and cheerful for the magnitude of what’s just been confirmed.
Harper pauses beside her car. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrified… Excited… Completely overwhelmed.” I stop suddenly, awareness prickling at the edge of my consciousness. “Harper, wait.” Something feels wrong. It’s the same sensation I’ve been experiencing for weeks but more intense now. I scan the parking lot with narrow eyes, looking for anything that seems out of place.