Chapter 54

I hated medical facilities. I hadn’t always—I used to be fine with doctors’ offices, but after months of painful, pointless fertility treatments that I didn’t even need, the smell of antiseptic brought nothing but dread.

It didn’t help that I was in the exam room with Elroy, another constant cause of heartbreak and trauma. But I couldn’t deny him this—and besides, a part of me was deeply glad he was here.

It was ridiculous to feel comfort from his presence, but I couldn’t help it. It was the Mate bond at work, regardless of whether we wanted it or not. And it was obvious I wasn’t the only one resenting it.

Elroy refused to look at me, and we hadn’t spoken a single word to each other even though it was the first time we’d seen each other in days. The air between us was icy, like this wasn’t supposed to be one of the best moments of early pregnancy. Having him here felt weighted and bitter.

And yet, still, I was glad he was there. The hypocrisy of my own emotions was killing me.

“Alright, the gel will be a little cold here…” the tech said, either oblivious to the tension in the room or pretending to be. I appreciated the false cheerfulness more than I expected to. The ultrasound gel was cold on my lower belly regardless, making me twitch.

“Alright, are you ready to take a look at your little one?” the tech asked, smiling at me and Elroy in turn. I felt my heart thump in a mixture of anticipation and trepidation; this was it. After ten long, harrowing weeks, and in spite of everything I’d gone through in this short period of time, I was finally going to see my child for the first time.

I gulped, all thoughts of Elroy eclipsed as my world narrowed down to that tiny, grainy feedback screen. It wasn’t showing anything yet, but it was about to introduce me to the most important person I’d ever meet.

“Yes,” I nodded breathlessly. “I—I want to see them.”

The ultrasound wand was a light pressure against my abdomen, my whole world stilling as I searched the gray blobs on the screen for something—anything—that looked important. I knew I wouldn’t really be able to tell yet, my baby was only the size of a large green olive at this point, but something in me knew that I’d know.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Luna,” the tech said gently, and I realized I’d been holding my breath without noticing. “There they are! Hold on, let me get a clearer image…”

It’s impossible to describe that first look. It was like the world filled with color I’d never been privy to, even as everything beyond that tiny little dot faded away. I felt bigger, and smaller, both more and less important, as all my priorities slid into new places.

This was my child. This was the life I was doing all of this for; this was the life that was worth it.

I’d prayed to the Moon Goddess, cried and pleaded for a baby. I’d sobbed and screamed and begged to know why I wasn’t worthy of motherhood, to know how I had failed her, why I was being punished. And that tiny, almost unnoticeable dot on the screen was Her answer.

It wasn’t punishment, it was preparation. Every moment in my life, preparation for this.

As everything on earth shifted a little to the right, making room in my world for this incredible miracle, the tech quietly clicked away and took measurements. I watched little lines and boxes appear and disappear as she moved from one measurement to the next, not knowing what a single one of them meant other than that my baby was alive.

I shouldn’t have been so surprised. I knew I was pregnant, I knew I was growing another person inside of me, I’d known it the whole time. Somehow, though, seeing it…

There was no room for denial or doubt. I hadn’t been pretending my child was hypothetical, but now I couldn’t if I tried. They were right there in front of me, a physical reality that was visible to others, able to be quantified and studied.

Some areas of the screen lit up red and blue, showing the blood flow down the umbilical cord and showing me in no uncertain terms just how much my child depended on me. I was their source of oxygen, nutrition, warmth… My health was no longer mine, and my resolve to do whatever it took to stay healthy grew even firmer in my chest.

“So the baby looks good,” the ultrasound tech said, “exactly what we want to see at this stage. 2.47 inches long, so right on track. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?:

“Yes,” I gasped, suddenly desperate for it. I needed that proof, that evidence that my child was alive, that connection—The tech pressed something, and a liquid sound filled the room.

Goddess.

Goddess Above, that was my baby.

The emotion was overwhelming, something I couldn’t accurately describe if I knew every language on earth. The only words I could think of were gratitude and a deep, endless ocean of love.

I’d always dismissed the idea of love at first sight. Interest, sure, connection, absolutely—but you had to know someone to love them, at least that’s what I’d always thought. Listening to the sound of my child’s tiny, fragile heart beating, I realized I was wrong.

I didn’t know this person, and I didn’t need to. Whoever this person became, they were exactly the person I was built to love.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision, but that was okay because the steady, strong rhythm of that tiny heartbeat sunk into my brain regardless.

Turning to Elroy was instinct, seeking connection in this intimately profound moment and the Bond telling me where I should look for it. I realized what I was doing as I did it, and I went to turn away, but—but I saw him. I saw the way he stared at the screen in awe, eyes slick with the tiniest hint of tears, his careful guard dropped to the floor to reveal a raw vulnerability I never thought I’d see.

I wanted to reach out to him, and that thought was like running into a brick wall at full speed. I didn’t want to want to reach for him, not after what he’d said to me, not after what he’d done.

I turned back to the screen, but while the love was still there in spades, I couldn’t summon the same carefree joy. This beautiful moment was soured, tainted, and part of me hated Elroy for ruining something so perfect. The other part of me hated myself for letting him.

The doctor stepped in to speak with us briefly, and then we were leaving. I stepped out of the clinic, grateful to be out of the sterile lighting but not feeling nearly as warm as the weather should have made me. I wanted to just walk away from Elroy, but I knew I couldn’t.

The baby needed nourishment, and I had to suck it up and make sure they had it. I opened my mouth, ready to break the silence between us even as I dreaded it, but Elroy spoke first.

"Olivia," he said, tone clipped and formal. “You need to return to the Ruby Room.”

I felt a small flare of anger; he had some nerve, trying to order me around, didn’t he? I swallowed it down. A fight wouldn’t do any good right now.

“No,” I said sternly, gratified by the indignation and disbelief that crossed Elroy’s face. And, maybe, appreciating the fear. “You are coming to my office before retiring for the night, and you will nourish the baby there.”

Elroy’s mouth, half-open in protest, shut again. He looked at me like he was assessing me, calculating the odds and outcomes of how this conversation could go. Part of me wanted to ask him was kind of idiot he was to expect me to sleep in the same room with him again, but I didn’t bother.

It wasn’t like I would have gotten through to him anyway.

I saw that he realized the same thing I did—that we didn’t need to sleep in the same bed for the baby to receive nourishment, and also that I wasn’t going to cave to this. He pressed his lips together but didn’t argue.

"I'll see you in your office at sundown," he said, his tone clipped and formal.

I nodded, turning away. "Fine."

As I walked away from him, I wasn't sure if I was relieved to be rid of him, or if I was grieving the sight of him next to me. Maybe, I thought to myself, I'm just grieving period.