Page 6 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

I snorted.Eases something in my mind?Fuck, he’d just dropped a baby on me, and he hoped that not having a brain tumor made me feel better? I still managed to mutter, “Thank you,” through my incredulity.

I stood, and he ushered me gently toward the door. “You’re welcome. See the receptionist; she’ll give you the bill and also direct you to your next appointment.” With that, he stepped back into his office, closing the door in my face, like he hadn’t just fucked me right over.

Fuck.

FUCK.

The receptionist handed me a bill that made me want to cry again, then pointed over at the elevator. “Level two. Your appointment is in forty-five minutes.”

And that was how I found myself sitting in a waiting room, surrounded by six pregnant women, one guy with bronchitis, and a lady who was jigging around like she was about to pee herself. Each one was encased in imaginary streaks of lights that hurt my eyes.

I looked down at the bill in my hand and opened my bank account app on my phone.

Then I cried yet again.

Chapter 3

WREN

The ultrasound tech was running behind, so it was actually more like an hour and a half before I was in the tiny room, climbing onto a bed covered in glorified paper towels, while a tech in a mask fiddled with the ultrasound machine.

“When was the date of your last period?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. A year ago? I’ve consistently used an implant since I turned sixteen, and I stopped getting regular periods, like, the first year?”

The tech nodded. “Okay. Well, this wouldn’t be the first contraception-fail baby I’ve seen, and I can tell you, it won’t be the last.” She gave me a look that was probably meant to be reassuring, but was ruined by her next words. “We’ll see what we can with this wand, but if it’s too early, we might have to try a trans-vaginal ultrasound.”

“Is that a train that goes across Virginia?” I joked, because I tended to make jokes when uncomfortable, and the idea of this woman poking any kind of instrument up my hoo-haadefinitelymade me uncomfortable.

She raised an eyebrow and talked me through the next steps like I was a child. “I’m moving up your shirt… I’m squirtinga lubricant on your stomach… The wand will be cold… I’m searching for your uterus…”

It was all going fine until her eyebrows rose two inches toward her hairline, and she let out a soft little, “Oh,” that echoed around the room like a gong.

It was a single syllable. Two letters. It shouldn’t have been as terrifying as it was. But that “Oh” had my heart hammering in my chest. “What?”

She gave me a tight smile, or at least, that’s what I thought she was doing behind her mask. Unfortunately, a smile that didn’t reach your eyes may as well not exist if your mouth was hidden. “I just want to get my colleague to check an anomaly. One moment.”

Then she disappeared, and I stared at the grainy screen grab of the Rorschach painting she’d been reading. I tried to see what she was worried about, but it made no sense to me at all.

When she returned, she brought along an older technician, whose smile was far more reassuring. This tech had curling gray hair and a quietly confident demeanor that bled through the room.

“How are you doing, sweets?” When she smiled, she meant it, and a part of me relaxed a little.

Flicking her glasses down her small, stubby nose, she picked up the magic wand thing and dug it into my stomach. Her fingers flew across the machine, taking screen grabs every now and then, before her eyebrows rose too.

“Ah, I see.” She didn’t seem as worried as the other tech, which told me that my baby probably didn’t have two heads or an extra leg, or something growing where it shouldn’t. She moved the wand again into another position, humming to herself. Another screen grab. And another.

Looking at my notes, she hummed again. “I’ll send these through to your doctor, but everything looks fine. I’d say you’reabout thirteen weeks along.” She gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher. “No need to panic at all.” She moved the wand until a familiar shape came into view. The profile of a face. “This is Baby A.”

“Baby A?” I breathed, but I was transfixed. This little gray blob had a profile. Sure, it looked more like a shadow puppet of a baby than something living and breathing, but still, there it was, its little heart fluttering on the ultrasound.

She moved the wand, but then the profile was back again. “And Baby B.”

“Baby B?” I squeaked, and as she moved the wand again, my hands started to shake.

“This one is a little harder to see, but there’s definitely a Baby C back here too.”

I was going to pass out. I was going to puke. Probably both. “No, no, no, no…”

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