“No, sweetie, that’s likely the edge of the umbilical cord. Don’t worry, everything looks normal.”
Caleb squeezed my hand tighter, his other hand moving up and down my arm in a gentle caress.
I stared at the image frozen on the screen as Suzanne wiped the gel from my stomach and continued reassuring me that my fetus was, in fact, human.
It was surreal. That funny-looking blob would be a little person. My little person.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Caleb brushed a tear from my cheek. The screen went dark, and I turned to look at him.
Cal.
His eyes held mine. His smile was still brilliant, still full of something that looked a lot like joy.
“I’m so happy,” I croaked. “You have no idea.”
“I think I have a bit of an idea.” His fingers traced down the side of my wet face.
Suzanne handed me a tissue. “Based on the estimated date of your last period and these measurements, I’d say we can safely confirm your due date. May nineteenth, correct?”
“Yes. May nineteenth.”
“That puts you at fourteen weeks,” Caleb said, counting it like a damn expert.
Which made it eleven weeks since I’d met this amazing man. Eleven weeks since I’d been drinking myself stupid at a house party, mourning the loss of the asshole who’d knocked me up. An asshole who still didn’t know he was about to be a father.
“Something wrong?” Suzanne asked, reading my face.
“What effect does binge-drinking have on an unborn baby?”
“That’s a conversation for your obstetrician, but I definitely wouldn’t condone drinking during pregnancy.” She kept her expression neutral, but there was an unmistakable edge to her tone.
“I think what Zadie’s asking,” Caleb said, his voice steady and warm, “is whether a single night of drinking, before she knew she was pregnant, could have caused harm.”
“Oh.” Suzanne’s expression softened as she looked at me. “You should still discuss it with your doctor. But from personal experience, a lot of women have been in similar situations. Your baby has made it this far, which is a very good sign.”
“That makes sense,” Cal reassured, stroking my arm.
I was glad it made sense to him. Maybe he could explain it all to me later. My mind was too busy compiling a list of every inadvertently stupid thing I’d done to put this baby at risk.
Poor, itty-bitty, ugly sea-alien.
The emotional overload reduced me to a pile of jittery limbs and shaky breath, my overfull bladder screaming for relief.
Without bothering to fix my waistband, I sat up and tried to scramble off the table. Caleb was there immediately, his hands steadying me as I hopped down. I made sure my legs would hold me before I let go.
I wished I could lean on him forever. And from the way his hands clasped my sides, the way he watched me with quiet intensity, I had a feeling he’d be happy with that too.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“Bathroom’s that way.” Suzanne pointed. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll leave the pictures with Caleb in reception.”
“I’ll be there,” he confirmed. “Waiting.”
Of course he would.
He’d stuck around through my drunken disaster, my uncontrollable sweating, and all my accidental flirting. He’d just sat through an ultrasound, staring at another man’s baby on a screen like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.