Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I asked for one,” Easton says. “I wanted to see our baby.”
I flinch at his choice of wording—realizing I insinuated the baby was only mine, which wasn’t my intention—and am about to apologize, when his first statement hits me. “You asked for one? Why?” I blurt out. “Do you not believe me? You’re getting a DNA test! My insurance isn’t going to cover this…”
“I requested an ultrasound because I missed the first one and wanted to see our baby.”
And now I feel like a complete bitch. “Oh.”
“And I’m covering the cost,” he adds.
“Oh,” I repeat like an idiot.
Thankfully the doctor saves us—more so me—from this awkward exchange by speaking up. “And here’s your baby.”
Both of our eyes move to the screen where the 3D image of our baby is on display, and my heart soars. He’s so tiny, but you can see his head and hands and feet and the umbilical cord. His tiny little heart is beating, the sound filling the room. Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision, and I quickly wipe them away, not wanting to miss a second of the baby on the monitor.
When I notice Easton is quiet, my gaze flicks over to him. He’s staring at the screen, frozen in his spot, his eyes glassy. A single tear slides down his cheek, and the dam that was holding back my tears breaks.
His eyes meet mine. “That’s our baby,” he rasps, another tear falling. “Thank you.”
His words are my undoing. “I’m so sorry for going off on you.” Tears slide down my face. “I’m such an emotional, hormonal, crazy person lately.” My sobs intensify and Easton takes my hand in his.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s to be expected. You’re carrying our cute little boiled egg. I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”
“Our what?” I choke out through a half sob, half laughter.
“I looked it up. Thirteen weeks is the size of a boiled egg. Last week he was the size of a man’s right testicle.” He grimaces. “I’m kind of glad that week is over because it was weird thinking about him as half of a ballsac.”
The doctor snorts out a laugh, reminding us she’s still in the room.
“I think you’re supposed to compare the baby to something cute, like fruit. Maybe a kiwi or a strawberry.”
“Fruit’s cute?” His nose scrunches up in the most adorable way. “If it helps, next week he’ll be the size of a Rubik’s cube. That’s kind of cute, right? All the colors and it’s a kid’s toy…”
I burst out laughing, as more tears stream down my face. “Thank you,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “I needed that laugh.”
He smiles down at me and then leans over and kisses my forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmurs so only I can hear, and for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I feel like maybe he’s right. Because it’s clear, even though I don’t know Easton well, he’s nothing like Kendall’s sperm donor.
We both dry our eyes and then Easton tells the doctor she can continue.
She smiles warmly at us both. “He or she is doing well. Measuring perfectly in line with your due date.” She explains a few things to us that are on the screen, capturing a few still images, and then removes the wand, the image of the baby disappearing.
“I want you to focus on removing stress from your life,” she says, standing and handing me some paper towels to clean the gunk off my belly. She pulls some papers from the machine and hands one to me and one to Easton—pictures of the baby.
Easton grins down at them with the most beautiful, proud smile, and my heart cracks. This is how a man is supposed to react to a baby, how I wanted Freeman to react. I’m so happy this baby will have a father in his or her life, but at the same time, my heart breaks for my daughter, who will never know what that feels like.
“Sophia,” the doctor prompts. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sorry. Eliminate stress. Got it.”
She moves the top of my chair to a sitting position. “Good. I’ll see you next month.” To Easton, she says, “It was nice meeting you.”
Once she’s gone, I climb off the bed and disappear behind the curtain to clean up and get dressed. When I come out, Easton is still standing there, staring at the photos.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I just can’t believe I’m going to be a dad.” He sniffles and folds the paper up, depositing it into his back pocket.
After I put on my coat, we head out to the check-out counter. I make my appointment for four Fridays from today, since by then I’ll be back in school and Fridays are my only days off, and then Easton leads me out the back door, where he has a car, driver, and bodyguard waiting.