I sat down on the kitchen floor and started crying.
Thomas rushed in.
“What happened?”
I simply showed him the result.
For several seconds, he just stared at it.
Then he knelt beside me and began crying too.
We knew the pregnancy would be considered high-risk.
The doctors had warned us.
But the weeks passed.
Twelve weeks.
Sixteen.
Twenty.
Twenty-four.
The baby kept developing normally.
And I felt better than anyone expected.
We were having a boy.
For the first time since losing Emily, I allowed myself to imagine a future again.
Then came the appointment that was supposed to be completely routine.
Thomas sat beside me while the ultrasound technician moved the probe across my stomach.
“There’s your little boy,” she said.
I laughed when I saw him move on the screen.
Thomas leaned closer.
“Already restless like you.”
The technician smiled.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
