28. Chapter 28

Chapter twenty-eight

W ith the tension heavy in the air and an unsettling knot tightening in my chest, I reluctantly make my way to work. Each step towards the studio feels like a step closer to a battlefield I’d rather avoid. The morning’s conversation with Ethan still echoes in my mind, a cacophony of unresolved anger and frustration. The words we exchanged felt like shards of glass, sharp and painful, and the thought of facing him again today makes my stomach churn.

I glance at the sky, hoping the weather might offer some reprieve, but it's as if the gray clouds are mirroring my mood, heavy and oppressive. The sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day, their chatter a distant hum compared to the storm brewing in my thoughts. I try to push the images of our argument out of my mind, but every corner I turn seems to replay our heated exchange.

The studio door opens with its usual chime, a sound that normally signifies a warm welcome but today feels like an ominous prelude. Inside, the space is filled with the usual hum of activity—needle buzzing, soft rock music playing in the background, and the occasional murmur of clients discussing designs. The scent of ink and antiseptic hangs in the air, a sharp reminder of the artistry and professionalism that typically defines this place.

I offer a tight-lipped smile to Sydney, who is busy answering calls and managing appointments. She gives me a distracted nod in return, her attention divided between the phone and the computer screen. I make my way to my station, each step feeling heavier as I try to prepare myself for the day ahead. The walls of the studio are adorned with vibrant artwork and tattoos in progress, but today, the colours seem muted, and the energy feels subdued.

Sitting down at my station, I set out my tools with methodical precision, trying to focus on the familiar routine. Yet, every sound and movement seems amplified—footsteps approaching, the clinking of metal, the rustle of clients flipping through design portfolios. My mind keeps drifting back to Ethan and the confrontation we had this morning. The anticipation of possibly running into him makes every creak of the floorboards or murmur of conversation feel like a prelude to an unavoidable clash.

As I gaze at the wall at the personal mementos and snapshots that are displayed, there’s a framed ultrasound picture—mine and Laelia’s baby scan. It’s a small, intimate detail that seems out of place in the studio’s usual display of art and designs.

Unable to resist, I cross the room and gently take the picture from its spot on the wall. The frame is cool and smooth in my hands as I carefully examine the scan. The baby’s tiny form is barely discernible, but the picture evokes a profound sense of new beginnings and the life that’s yet to come for me and Laelia. The simple, handwritten note beneath it—“Our little miracle”—is a tender reminder of the life that’s growing and the future that’s being built.

14th April 2023

Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock on the wall. Each second feels like an eternity. Laelia checked in fifteen minutes ago, but it feels like I've been sitting here for hours. I know we arrived early—both of us too excited to wait any longer to see our little one, to learn everything we can about them—but the anticipation is gnawing at me.

I shift in the chair, my elbows resting on my knees, my foot tapping a relentless rhythm against the cold, sterile floor. My nerves are starting to get the better of me. Every second that passes feels heavier than the last. I'm not the one carrying the child, yet somehow, I'm the one who’s more nervous. I can't help but think that women, like Laelia, are so much better at handling these things.

A gentle hand touches my arm, and I turn to face Laelia. Her eyes, filled with warmth and understanding, meet mine. "There’s no need to worry, everything’s fine. Take a deep breath and relax. Maybe read a magazine," she suggests, nodding towards the rack beside me.

I try to take her advice, but the idea of a magazine isn't exactly appealing. Instead, I scan the room, hoping something will distract me. The walls are a pale pastel, offering little comfort. There’s no art, no decorations, just the bare essentials. The chairs are simple, the kind you find in any waiting room, designed more for function than comfort.

The room is almost empty, just a few people scattered around. The receptionist is multitasking, typing away on her computer while answering the incessantly ringing phone. An elderly couple sits nearby, the wife’s hand gently resting on her husband’s, her voice soft as she reassures him that everything will be okay. Across from me, a mother cradles a young boy in her lap, his skin dotted with what looks like chickenpox. My mind briefly wanders to our own child, hoping they’ll be healthy and happy, imagining what they'll look like, what kind of personality they'll have.

In front of me, a TV screen occasionally displays a patient’s name, directing them to a room and doctor. I keep waiting for Laelia’s name to pop up, but the screen remains stubbornly indifferent. The only real entertainment I have is my phone, with its usual games—Candy Crush, Temple Run, Angry Birds. But even those can't hold my attention right now. The magazines beside me are all outdated, relics from January 2023, as if time stopped for this waiting room months ago.

Suddenly, a small beep pulls my attention back to the screen. Frank O’Neill appears, instructing him to go to waiting room two to see Dr. McCrea. I watch as the elderly couple stands. The wife extends her arm, offering support to her husband as he rises. He takes her arm with one hand, his cane with the other, and together they shuffle towards the door that leads to the doctor's rooms.

“One day, that will be us,” Laelia whispers, drawing my gaze back to her. She smiles, her eyes softening. “We’ll be in love, giving each other support, caring for one another well into our elderly years. Although," she teases, "I think you might be bald by then.”

I shake my head with a grin. “If I’m bald, shoot me. My hair is one of my pride and joys.”

She laughs, a sound that never fails to lift my spirits, and rolls her eyes. “I thought I was your pride and joy.”

“After my hair, yes.” I chuckle, earning a playful nudge from her, and we both burst into laughter.

Another beep from the screen catches my attention. This time, it’s Laelia’s name: Laelia Jayne Marie Thorn, Room 5, Dr. Anderson.

I’m on my feet before I can even process it, Laelia right beside me. She leads the way through the door, down the corridor to room five. My heart pounds with every step, the anticipation mounting. She knocks on the door, and a woman’s voice calls from inside, “Come in.”

Laelia pushes the door open, and we step into a room that feels both familiar and foreign. The same pale pastel walls greet us, but this room is filled with more—tools and equipment of a doctor’s office. To the right, there’s a desk cluttered with a computer, stationery, files, and a blood pressure machine. Behind the desk, charts decorate the wall—a BMI chart, a food chart, a list of emergency numbers for other doctors in the building. On the other side of the room is a bed, an ultrasound machine, and a lonely, half-dead potted plant on the windowsill. It’s the kind of plant I’d probably forget to water, much like the one wilting in our kitchen at home.

Next to the ultrasound machine stands Dr. Anderson. She’s dressed in a black pencil skirt and white shirt, a lanyard hanging around her neck. Her presence is professional, yet there’s a warmth in her eyes as she points to the bed, indicating for Laelia to take a seat.

Laelia sits down, and I move to her side, instinctively taking her hand as Dr. Anderson types away on the computer, bringing up Laelia’s records. She turns to us with a smile. “So, I see you’re pregnant. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Laelia nods, her voice tinged with excitement. “I did a pregnancy test to make sure, but they all said positive, estimating between seven to eight weeks. That was nearly a month ago.”

Dr. Anderson nods, “Well, shall we take a look?”

Laelia nods eagerly, her excitement contagious. I feel it too, a swell of emotions that makes my grip on her hand tighten. Dr. Anderson stands and approaches the bed as Laelia lies back, offering me her other hand. I hold it, anchoring myself to her as Dr. Anderson prepares the ultrasound.

“This might be cold,” she warns, slipping on gloves and squeezing a small amount of gel onto Laelia’s stomach. Laelia flinches slightly at the touch, a small laugh escaping her lips as the gel meets her skin.

Dr. Anderson picks up the probe and glances at us, “Are you both ready?”

“Yes,” I reply, the word escaping before I can even think, earning me a smile from Laelia.

The probe touches Laelia’s stomach, and I watch the screen intently. I did some research before we came, trying to understand what we might see, what to expect. But nothing could prepare me for this moment. The black and white screen shows the outline of Laelia’s womb, but it’s hard to make out much more. Then, a sound fills the room, a soft, rhythmic beat that instantly brings tears to my eyes.

I look at Laelia, and she’s already looking at me, her eyes glistening with tears. On the screen, a small, almost indistinct shape appears—a little blob, with not much definition yet, but it’s ours. It’s our baby, and that sound, that steady, beautiful beat, is our baby’s heartbeat.

I can’t hold back. I lean in and kiss Laelia, a tender, loving kiss that she returns with equal emotion. We’re having a baby. This is real, not just a dream. Our lives are about to change in the most beautiful way possible.

As I pull back, I look at the screen again, my heart swelling with love and pride. Dr. Anderson studies the screen closely. “From the looks of it, you’re around eleven to twelve weeks along. I’d estimate your due date to be around Halloween.”

Laelia and I exchange a glance, both of us grinning like children. Halloween is our favourite holiday, a day when we can let our inner nerds shine. Last year, I dressed up in one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes, while Laelia went all out as Harley Quinn. That costume didn’t last long once we got home—it was off her and on the bedroom floor before she could even complain.

Now, knowing our baby is likely to be born around Halloween, my mind races with ideas. For a boy, maybe Casper, Freddy, Fraser, or Burton. For a girl, Luna, Wednesday, Autumn, Raven, or even Morticia. Though, I’m pretty sure Laelia will veto Morticia, given her distaste for the character from The Addams Family . Her favourite Halloween movies are the Halloweentown series—four films about a family of witches in a magical place filled with talking skeletons, warlocks, werewolves, and more. It’s not my usual type of movie, but every year, we make it a tradition to watch all four films together, surrounded by popcorn, candy apples, and enough candy to last a lifetime.

I glance at Laelia, and I can see it in her eyes—she’s thinking the same thing. This Halloween, we’ll have one more reason to celebrate, one more reason to love this time of year.

Dr. Anderson’s voice pulls me back to the moment. “I’ll get you a few scan copies,” she says, removing her gloves and setting the probe aside. “You can use the tissue to wipe off the gel. Just toss it in the bin when you’re done.”

With that, she clicks a few keys on the computer and leaves the room, giving us a moment alone.

Laelia sits up quickly, wiping the gel from her stomach and handing me the tissue to discard as she buttons up her jeans. I toss the tissue in the bin and return to her side, cupping her face gently in my hands. Our eyes lock, and the world outside this room fades away. It’s just us, in this intimate, sacred moment, realising that our lives are about to be forever intertwined with the life of this little one.

"It’s all becoming so real," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. Her smile is radiant, her tears mirroring my own as we bask in the joy of this moment. "I love you so much, Laelia."

She smiles back at me, her eyes sparkling with tears and love. "And I love you, Killian. With every single piece of my heart and soul." Her voice is soft, but it carries the weight of all the dreams, hopes, and love we’ve shared over the years.

I lean in and kiss her again, this time slowly, savouring the moment. This kiss isn’t just about the excitement of what’s to come—it’s a promise. A promise that no matter what happens, we’ll face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart.

As we pull back, she rests her forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. We’re both crying, but they’re happy tears, tears of pure, unadulterated joy.

“I can’t believe we’re having a Halloween baby,” she murmurs, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and excitement. “It’s like our favourite holiday just got even more special.”

I chuckle softly, running my thumb along her cheek. “I’m already planning the costumes,” I say, my voice light with humour. “Maybe we can dress them as a little pumpkin or a mini Frankenstein.”

She laughs, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Or a baby witch or wizard,” she suggests, her eyes lighting up at the thought. “I can’t wait to start all these new traditions with our little one.”

The door opens, and Dr. Anderson returns with a few scan copies in her hand. She hands them to Laelia, who takes them with trembling fingers, her eyes shining as she looks at the first images of our baby. I lean over her shoulder, my heart swelling with pride and love as I see the tiny, grainy image of the life we’ve created together.

“Here you go,” Dr. Anderson says with a kind smile. “Everything looks great. I’ll set up your next appointment, and we’ll continue monitoring the baby’s growth. But for now, just enjoy this moment.”

Laelia and I both nod, our attention still focused on the scans. It’s surreal, seeing the tiny beginnings of our child, knowing that in just a few short months, we’ll be holding them in our arms.

As Dr. Anderson finishes up, she gives us a few more instructions, but it’s all a blur. All I can think about is the future—of holding our baby, of late-night feedings, of first words and first steps, of all the moments that will fill our lives with even more love than I thought possible.

Finally, we thank Dr. Anderson and leave the room, walking back down the corridor hand in hand. The world outside feels different now, brighter, filled with endless possibilities.

As we step out into the cool air, Laelia turns to me, her smile so wide it could light up the entire street. “I’m so happy, Killian. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

I squeeze her hand, feeling a deep sense of contentment settle over me. “Me too, Laelia. Me too.”

We walk to the car, the scan pictures carefully tucked into her bag. As I start the engine, I glance over at her, her hand resting on her stomach as if she’s already cradling our baby.

Driving home, the world around us seems to blur, and all I can focus on is her and the little life growing inside her. Our future is unfolding in front of us, full of laughter, love, and the kind of happiness that comes from knowing you’re about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life.

Back at home, we find ourselves curled up on the couch, the scans spread out on the coffee table in front of us. We talk about the future, about the kind of parents we want to be, about the nursery and names and all the tiny details that make up a life. Every word is filled with love, every plan a promise of the life we’re building together.

As the night deepens, Laelia falls asleep with her head on my shoulder, a peaceful smile on her lips. I sit there for a while longer, watching her, my heart so full it feels like it might burst.

This is what happiness feels like, I think to myself. This is what it means to truly love and be loved in return. And with our baby on the way, that love is only going to grow.

With a soft sigh, I press a kiss to her forehead and close my eyes, knowing that the future—our future—is going to be more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.