She was pregnant, with the baby of a man who had demanded that they never see one another again.
Pregnant with an heir he desperately needed but would surely never acknowledge, given that she was the mother. Pregnant with a child that would complicate everything for him, that would throw a huge grenade into his life.
Her hand came to her still flat stomach and pressed there, and love flooded her. It was an intense, all-consuming, fierce and soul-deep love, unlike anything she’d ever known before, and for the first time since leaving Al Medina, there was also hope.
A sense of purpose, even.
This wasn’t the first time Cora had seen these two little lines on a pregnancy test. Last time, with Alf, she’d known it would be the end of their marriage if she’d had the baby, and yet nothing could have stopped her. She had loved that child too, from the first moment she’d learned of them, just as she did now. But it was impossible not to feel a sense of panic, because the loss of that baby had almost destroyed her. The pain, the emptiness, the disbelief, the feeling that her body had failed her in such a vital way.
She couldn’t think about that now—if she thought of her miscarriage, she’d be inert, and this was a time for action. The last four weeks had been difficult.
Cora had struggled to get out of bed at first. Grief had soaked her, overpowered her, and she’d let it, lying there and allowing sadness to wash over her, because it felt important and necessary, because she didn’t feel she had any choice. After nine days, she’d started to shower and dress in the morning, but then had taken herself back to bed, where she’d worked as much as she was able. Dimitrios was the only one she could talk to, because she knew he understood grief and sadness and even though they didn’t talk about the source of her feelings, there was something reassuring about his voice, about him.
Nick had tried calling; she’d ignored him. Her brother knew her too well. If she spoke to him, he’d have known something was wrong, and he wouldn’t rest until he found out what.
Cora wanted to nurse her heartbreak close to her chest a little longer.
Devastation was a part of her.
But this morning, with the pregnancy test telling her what she’d suspected for two days, she felt strong. She had to be strong. A baby would be counting on her in…how many months? How far along was she?
With trembling fingers, she googled obstetricians and made an appointment—fortunately, there’d been a cancellation and she was able to get in that very same day.
The obstetrician’soffice was hyper generic, with cream décor, famous art prints on the walls—the Mona Lisa sat behind the desk, in a bright red frame that would have made Da Vinci cry, Cora suspected. “Pregnancy tests almost never show false positives,” the doctor said with a smile. “But we’ll do a blood test to confirm.”
“Thank you. Is there any way to check how far along I am?” Cora asked nervously. Her miscarriage had happened towards the end of the first trimester. Cora was naturally anxious.
“Usually, we track it from your first missed period. Are you able to date it that way?”
Cora tilted her head to the side. The truth was, she’d been so busy, she hadn’t made a note of any of that. “I don’t think so.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “The thing is, doctor, I’ve been pregnant before.”
The doctor nodded gently.
“Years ago now.” Cora swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I lost the baby. I’m—,”
“I understand,” she murmured. “So you want to know where you’re at in the pregnancy.”
“Yes. I know no time is ‘safe’ but…”
“Yes,” the doctor’s expression showed kindness. “We’ll do a blood test, which will give us a good idea of the level of hormone in your blood, and we can also do a dating scan. In fact, let’s have a look,” the doctor said, perhaps taking pity on Cora, given the look of desperation in her eyes. “It might be too early, but perhaps…”
“Yes, let’s check,” Cora agreed. She followed the obstetrician’s instructions, settling herself on the medical bed and lifting her shirt to reveal her stomach, as the doctor placed a blue goop over her flesh and then reached for the ultrasound wand.
“It might be too early,” the obstetrician reiterated. “And even if not, sometimes we can’t get a good image.”
“I get it. I’d just like to know, if possible.”
The doctor pressed the wand to Cora’s stomach, harder than Cora had expected, so it was uncomfortable, and she thought of the little life form in there, hoping they weren’t in pain thanks to the wand.
“You’re in luck,” the doctor smiled. “I have a good image.” She moved her fingers over a spherical contraption in the keyboard and then, there was a snapping sound. “I would say you’re around twelve or thirteen weeks.” She clicked again. “Closer to thirteen.”
Cora gasped. She’d presumed it had happened on their last night together, but if these dates were accurate, then it was more likely to have been their first. To think of that! A little hitchhiker had been with them the whole time, growing inside her, stronger and fiercer each day. Relief barrelled through her. “Past the first trimester?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled, the fear that had been rampant inside of her since she’d had her suspicions confirmed easing off a little.
She closed her eyes, her pulse twisting because she was out of the first trimester, and she hadn’t even known! “I—,” Cora closed her eyes. “Wow.”