Page 151 of This Woman Forever

Fuck. It’s a lightning-bolt moment. I always wish for her vulnerability to shine through. But not like this. I pick up my feet and go to her, sitting and holding her hands with both of mine, my gaze low, my mind trying to block out the sounds of the doctor working.

“This will be a little chilly,” he says.

And a lot fucking painful. I laugh sardonically on the inside. I should be fucking used to it. Immune to it. But no. The universe wants to carry on fucking me over. And because I’m now married to this young, bright beauty, she will be fucked over too.

I breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

In.

Out.

I hear clicks, turns, whooshes, my breathing, Ava’s breathing. I notice her staring at the ceiling, her face painfully expressionless. My head drops heavily again, my hands squeezing tighter around hers. Time stands still for a while, my hearing heightened, the clock hands ticking in between the machinery and the thumps of my heartbeats. I blink my dry eyes, head still low, still clinging to her. Keeping me grounded.

I need a drink.

Vod—

“Everything is okay, Ava,” the doctor says.

I frown, not daring to look up, scared I’m hearing things. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hearing things, seeing things. Ava murmurs her confusion. I hear the doctor tell us light bleeding isn’t unusual during the early stages.

Everything is okay? My wife and my baby are okay? I blink, feeling the tickle of a tear rolling down my cheek. Is this a dream?

Ava sucks in air sharply, and I realize it’s a sound of pain. Then I realize I’m the one causing her pain, squeezing her hand to death. I quickly relax and look up in a state of utter shock. Our baby is okay.

She’s not been taken.

Ava doesn’t look all too present either. What the fuck is going on?

And is one of us going to ask for confirmation? Did Ava hear what was just said? My mouth opens and shuts. Ava’s mouth opens and shuts.

I stand, but my legs wobble, so I sit back down. Then get straight back up. “Ava’s still pregnant?” I murmur, staring at the doctor, watching his face so very closely, trying to read every slight move in his expression. He’s smiling. That has to be a good thing. No doctor would smile if the situation was dire. “She’s... she’s...” I can’t string a fucking sentence together. “There’s... we’re...” What am I trying to say?

“Yes.” The doctor chuckles. That was definitely a chuckle. Smiling, chuckling. He’s happy. But what am I feeling? Dazed. “Ava is still pregnant, Mr. Ward,” he says cheerfully as he works on the machine. “Sit down, I’ll show you.”

Sit down? How do I sit down? I quickly check Ava’s still on the bed. Because where else would she be? “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind,” I mumble, my eyes on the screen, the mass of black fuzz and white blobs a total mess. “I need to feel my legs.” I study the pulsing images, the dusty dots. “I don’t see anything.”

“There, look.” The doctor points to the center to what looks like a really long, really dark tunnel. “Two perfect heartbeats.”

Say what now? “My baby has two hearts?” Am I an absolute moron? Jake makes his presence known and starts laughing hysterically, and I scowl at the sarcastic fucker. Is this a joke? Two heartbeats? Two as in... one more than one heartbeat? One plus one equals two?

Two?

Two heartbeats equal two babies, and two babies equals twins.

What the ever-loving fuck?

“No, Mr. Ward.” The doctor chuckles again. Anyone would think something amusing is going down. “Each of your babies has one heart, and both are beating just fine.”

Stunned, my legs move without me telling them to, and I collide with something. I hope it’s a chair because my knees have just given way and I’m freefalling. I grunt when my arse hits the seat. Now, I know I have been hearing things lately. Seeing things. Questioning... everything. So, just to be sure, for the avoidance of doubt, to absolutely eliminate any confusion... “I’m sorry, say that again,” I order quietly.

“Mr. Ward,” he says assertively. “Let me put this into plain English, if it will help.”

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