Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
He nods once. “I can’t wait to see our baby,” he says, awe in his voice.
The certainty in his voice surprises me. It’s steady and grounded and sure, and it settles something wobbly inside me.
At the clinic, he stays close to me. He holds my hand while I check in, sits beside me in the waiting room, and asks me lots of questions about myself while I fill out forms. When the nurse calls my name, he rises with me immediately, one hand resting gently on my lower back as if guiding me.
Once we’re in the exam room, the nurse steps out to give me a moment to change. Samuil steps back and faces the window to give me privacy. It should feel awkward, but it’s strangely sweet and respectful.
When the doctor comes in, she greets me warmly, then looks at Samuil. “Are you the father?”
“I am,” he confirms, beaming with pride.
I sit on the exam table, paper rustling under me. Samuil steps closer so he’s right beside me. He doesn’t take my hand yet, but he’s there to support me in every way I’ll let him.
“All right,” the doctor says gently. “Let’s see how your little one’s doing.”
Samuil’s hand finally finds mine, warm and firm.
We wait for a moment with bated breath before a fast, rhythmic thumping fills the room. The steady thump, thump makes my pulse spike. The world narrows to that single sound. My baby. Our baby.
I cover my mouth with my free hand, tears springing up instantly. I can’t help it. I can’t stop them. The heartbeat is so strong and clear, it knocks the breath right out of me.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
Samuil makes a choked noise, and I try to examine his face, but he’s leaning so close to the monitor that it’s hard for me to see. He’s completely tuned in to the image on the screen.
“That’s our baby,” he says, voice thick.
My heart leaps again. He is so genuinely happy, and I’m not sure how to process that after being so worried he’d reject it. He looks like his whole world has been turned upside down in the best possible way.
He hangs onto our doctor’s every word as she talks through measurements, target dates, and next steps. I hear pieces of it, but most of me is locked on Samuil’s face, the awe there, the softness, the unguarded hope.
When the doctor steps out to let me clean up, the room feels strange and quiet. Samuil doesn’t move at first. He just sits next to me, still processing what we’ve just witnessed. When he does look at me, there’s such a big, goofy grin on his face that I can’t help but laugh.
No one has ever looked at me like that in my life. He leans down to kiss me, and I let him, because that’s easier than talking. I can at least pretend to know what I’m doing when my lips are against his. The feelings part is much harder to navigate.
“That was really something, huh?” he asks in amazement.
I nod, even though my throat is tight. “It really was,” I manage, not sure what else to say.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that,” he says quietly. “I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest.”
My chest tightens so sharply I have to steady myself. He looks at me like I’ve given him something he didn’t know he was missing. Something he’s terrified to lose.
When we walk out into the hallway, he rests a hand on the small of my back. I lean into it without thinking.
He stops at the exit. “We’re not going home yet.”
I blink at him. “We’re not?”
He gives me a look that’s almost shy, even though nothing about Samuil is shy.
“There’s something I want to get,” he says mysteriously.
We walk across the street to a little boutique filled with baby blankets and knitted toys. I don’t know why, but the second we step inside, I feel like the floodgates have opened. It takes everything in me not to burst into tears.
“We should pick out a gift for our baby,” he says softly. “We could do this after every appointment, like a little ritual. Then, when he or she gets older, we can tell them, ‘We got this when we heard your heartbeat. We picked this out when we found out you were a boy or girl.’ Or is that too cheesy?”
He grimaces, like he’s just revealed more of himself than he meant to. I grab his hand and squeeze, because it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I love that idea,” I tell him, and I mean it.
I walk slowly through the store, fingers brushing tiny hats and soft plush animals. There’s a knitted cream-colored hat with two little ears. I stop in front of it without meaning to. Something about the simplicity of it pulls at me.