Nikki must think the same thing, because she glances at me with desperate eyes. Does she want me to shut the woman up?
The only way I know how isn’t appropriate at a hospital.
Nikki lifts her shirt, and the flatness of her stomach strikes me. Should she be showing? I know it’s only been a few weeks, but there’s not even the slightest hint of a belly.
The technician applies a generous amount of clear goopy jelly over Nikki’s stomach before pressing the wand down and examining the monitor.
I see the littlest speckle on the monitor. It’s hardly bigger than a grape—the thumping of a pulse jets through the speaker.
Our baby’s heartbeat.
I press my lips tight together.
The air is sucked out of my lungs. The room spins.
I’m going to be a father.
“Wow,” Nikki says. She squeezes my hand, her grip undeniable and tight. Fear crosses over her brow.
Is she afraid of me or what this baby means? Her life will never be the same, and neither will mine.
I can’t keep treating her like a prisoner.
Moreno is right. I have to grant her sunlight and freedom, even if it’s just a taste.
But she has no idea how much she’s in danger, all because of me.