Just the soft mechanical hum of the machine.
The distant squeak of wheels in the hallway.
The sound of Claire breathing unevenly beside me.
I stood near the bed clutching the blue folder against my chest like it could somehow make me useful.
The doctor moved the probe carefully across Claire’s abdomen, his expression unreadable in that professional way doctors learn to hide concern.
I stared at the monitor without understanding anything.
Gray shadows.
Blurry movement.
Shapes I couldn’t interpret.
Claire wasn’t watching the screen.
She was watching the doctor’s face.
That terrified me more than anything else.
Another sharp pain crossed through her body, and instinctively I reached for her hand.
For half a second—
she didn’t take it.
That tiny hesitation nearly broke me.
Then another contraction hit, and finally her fingers wrapped tightly around mine.
I held on like someone drowning.
The doctor adjusted the image again.
Silence stretched longer.
Too long.
Then suddenly—
a faint flicker appeared on the monitor.
Small.
Rapid.
Fragile.
“There’s cardiac activity,” the doctor said carefully.
The breath left my body all at once.
