Page 33 of When Love Found Us
Is it safer to stay here?
But now . . . now I’m supposed to act like I’m Atlas’s wife.
The moment Lydia called me Mrs. Timberbridge, something inside me locked up. Like a door slammed shut in my head, trapping me inside a life that isn’t mine. I don’t know if Atlas sensed it or if he was just waiting for me to react, but the way he grabbed my hand—like he thought I would bolt—only made the tension worse.
Now, I’m sitting on an exam table, wrapped in a flimsy gown, about to be examined by a doctor who might already hate me just for being close to him.
And Atlas?
He stands nearby, playing the role of a doting husband well enough. Close, but not hovering. Concerned, but not overbearing.
Like he knows I don’t want him here—but refuses to leave anyway.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Moreau,” she finally speaks, glancing at the screen. Her frown is small, but I catch it. She lingers too long before looking up.
“Blythe Timberbridge?”
My stomach twists.
She stares at the screen. Then, at Atlas.
“I had no idea you were married.”
I want to sayMe neither,but I don’t. I just offer a polite, neutral smile. One that probably says,Well, here I am, just examine me, lady.
Atlas doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, not many do.” His voice is even. Casual. “I like to keep my life to myself. Plus, we just got back to town. The last thing I want is for everyone to be watching us.”
Dr. Moreau hesitates, then nods. “Of course.”
She turns her attention to me, her voice soft but clinical as she runs through the standard questions—last cycle, symptoms, medical history. I answer what I can. Lie where I need to.
Then Lydia rolls in the ultrasound machine, the room shifting to something quieter, more expectant.
Dr. Moreau snaps on gloves. “Since you’re maybe ten weeks pregnant, we’ll be doing an internal ultrasound today.”
I swallow hard. I don’t like to put my feet on the straps.
“You okay?” Atlas murmurs.
I blink at him.
For a second, just one, his concern feels real.
I force a nod. “Yeah.”
Dr. Moreau dims the lights, and the screen flickers to life.
I brace myself.
Atlas straightens, his entire focus locked onto the screen like it’s the only thing in the room that matters. His jaw twitches, tension rolling off him in quiet waves.
I don’t breathe as Dr. Moreau preps the wand, her voice calm, detached. She explains how early scans require an internal ultrasound, how it’ll help get a clearer picture.
My fingers dig into the crinkled paper beneath me.
I almost say no.
Then I remember why I’m here.
