Page 14 of Because of Them

“But I can see, somehow, that you want this. And that’s all that matters right now. Everything else, all the nitty gritty details are white noise. Because you are going to love that baby so much. And I already know you are an incredible mother who only wants the best for her children.”

My shoulders shake at her words, at the kindness she has shown me. And I believe everything she has said.

“You’re not failing, Audrey.”

Sucking in oxygen and courage, I straighten my posture as much as I can with the permanent twist in my stomach. “Cassidy?”

She responds with a gentle hum.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

When I go to turn away, her grip tightens on my shoulders, forcing me to look back up at her.

“What are friends for?” she says with a coy grin.

AUDREY

The room smells clinical; bleach burning through my nostrils with a subtle citrus scent that tries to force its way into the aroma. It’s sterile in a way that reminds me of the day Maisie broke her collarbone. I realised that day, how different our future was going to be from the one I had planned. I was no longer in charge of her every movement, I was no longer always going to be there for her. It broke my heart, but it was also a weird turning point for me.

Sitting on the floor of the waiting room, my arms wrapped around her legs, I realised that the three of us would be stronger apart. And that for this to work, Callum and I needed to get along, properly, not just a little bit. By default, I figured that meant Cassidy and I had to get along as well.

I vowed then to never be the clichéd evil bio-mum, trying to stop my daughter from having a friendship with her eventual stepmum. Because I have no doubts that Callum and Cassidy are racing down that path at breakneck speed. Maisie adores Cassidy, and the two have a lot of shared interests. I came to terms then with the fact that I was no longer the only woman in my daughter’s life. That in a roundabout way she would have three parents, not just two, and certainly not just one.

That thought flings me back to the present at the same time the ultrasound technician turns back toward the waiting room with a furrowed brow. Her lavender scrubs compliment the deep purple of her hair but are contrasted by the bright red glasses framing her face.

“Are you by yourself?” she questions.

I’m sure she doesn’t mean for the words to cut as deeply as they do. But I am. I am by myself, and this baby will only have one parent, so unlike Maisie with her whole team.

I could call Michael.

Ishouldcall Michael.

But I’m afraid of what he would say. Too scared he would ask if we should keep the baby I’ve already grown to love. Terrified that he might want nothing to do with his child. His actions have shown me that he isn’t ready to become a father, so I’ve kept this secret. Because if he doesn’t know, he can’t hurt us by walking away.

Michael is outrageous and fun, there’s no way he is ready to become a father. I’ve been clinging to that thought, as though it justifies my decision not to tell him. Even though he has a right to know, I’m choosing to protect myself, and this baby, first.

I give the technician a sharp nod and climb onto the reclined chair. It’s easier to let her comment slide than to open my mouth. If I do, the can of worms might spill open. I choke alittle, hoping I can hold my nausea at bay at least until the appointment is over.

I pull up my shirt as she dims the lights, and I squeeze my own hands when she dumps cold gel on my stomach.

“That’s fine,” she chimes. “Lots of dads can’t make it to appointments. We will take lots of pictures for you to show him.”

Her bold assumption shocks the polite grin off my face. She cracked open the can of worms all by herself. Sure, most women that come in for pregnancy ultrasounds would be coupled up. Most dads would at least make an effort to be there, or care enough to want a printout—but then again, most dads alsoknowabout the baby.

My fingers squeeze against my thumb as I consider all the possible reasons her words might have cut open an unintended wound. What about the women who choose to have a baby on their own? The ones who don’t know who the father is? Or the ones who know exactly who it is but are desperately trying to escape him? What about the women having babies with other women, thanks to a generous donation from a friend or a stranger?

So many scenarios that don’t fit the life she assumed I lived. For a moment, I consider pretending to live one of those lives. Anything to escape my own fucked up situation.

But I remain silent, choosing to avoid the awkwardness altogether.

Without another word, she presses the wand into my stomach. Forcing my flesh to descend and twist, she wriggles the receiver around while examining her computer. The screen above the chair remains blank, and her monitor is directed away from me, but the subtle woosh of my insides rings in the air.

Until another sound is added to the mix. One that makes my eyes unexpectedly swell. A piece of my heart tears away, floating down my abdomen and settling itself low in my belly. And it willstay there, I’m sure, until this little baby is born. Then they will carry it around with them forever, just like Maisie does with her piece.

Dub-dub, dub-dub, dub-dub.

It’s faster than I remember, but the sound is unmistakable.

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