Page 34 of When Love Found Us
I need to know.
The wand is cold. The pressure, invasive. It’s clinical, nothing dangerous, but my body doesn’t care about logic. Still, I tense. My breath hitching, heart hammering against my ribs. A ghost of a memory slithers in—Winston’s hands pushing me down, his voice, the way he always made it sound like a favor. Like I should be grateful for him to . . .
I close my eyes.
I am not there. I am not with him. Yet I can still feel his hot breath asphyxiating me while he touched me, while he . . .
Stay present,I insist.You’re safe.My body still reacts, muscles clenching, a sickness curling in my stomach.
Atlas shifts beside me, his voice low. Gentle. “Blythe.”
I force my eyes open.
He’s watching me, not the screen.
“Take a deep breath,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
I exhale shakily.
“Relax,” he says, quieter this time. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word shouldn’t mean anything, not coming from him. Not when I know better than to trust anyone.
But the way he says it—calm, certain, with no expectation, no pressure—makes me want to believe him.
So I inhale, exhale, and try to calm down.
Soon enough, the sound fills the room.
A rhythmicwhoosh-whoosh-whoosh.It’s a strong sound. That makes my heart stumble.
The doctor glances at the screen, a soft smile in her voice. “There’s your baby.”
Atlas’s hand tightens around mine, grounding me in a way I don’t expect. He hasn’t let go since I tensed up earlier. Now, he gives a small squeeze—it’s a small gesture, and I’m not sure what to do with it. It feels strange to feel some kind of support when my life is shifting yet again. The sensation is foreign, and I want to hide. I definitely do not look at him.
I can’t look at anything but the screen.
And there they are. A tiny, curled-up little shapeless blob, who’s impossibly small. My baby.
My chest rises, falls. Too fast. Too shallow.
It doesn’t seem real. At the center, the heartbeat pulses in a quiet, unwavering rhythm—constant, certain, alive.
The shift inside me is strange, doesn’t feel like peace or safety, more like . . . acceptance. This is really happening. I’m going to be a mother. My stomach twists, bile creeping up my throat because this might be my baby, but it’s also Winston’s.
ChapterFifteen
Henrietta (Blythe)
Just thinkingabout how the kid was conceived—of who the father is . . . it cracks something open inside me. Splinters through my ribs, crawls up my throat, squeezes until my vision blurs.
The clinic walls are closing in. The air feels too thick, pressing against my skin, making it impossible to pull in a full breath. My heartbeat thrums wildly, loud enough to drown out everything else. Or maybe that’s not my heart—it’s the sound of the monitor, the rhythmicwhoosh-whoosh-whooshlooping through my head like an alarm I can’t turn off.
My baby.
Mine, but also Winston’s child.
