Page 35 of Ivory Crown

In the exam room, white and chrome gleamed under harsh lights. I laid Jade gently on the bed, and the nurse wasted no time in checking her vitals. She worked efficiently, yet her hands betrayed the slightest tremble.

“Doctor will be right in,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes revealing more. She left, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo too loudly in the confined space.

Jade reached for my hand, her skin cool and clammy. I wrapped my fingers around hers, grounding her, grounding myself.

“I’m here,” I said. “Everything will be okay.”

After that, everything happened quickly. The doctor came in, took a quick history, then said that Jade would need to get an ultrasound. She said other things too, but I wasn’t listening.

I was only watching Jade’s face twist in pain.

A different nurse met us, her eyes locking onto ours with an intensity that felt like a punch to the gut. There was no hiding the concern that creased her forehead, despite the practiced calm of her greeting.

“Right this way,” she said, leading us down a white-washed corridor that hummed with hushed voices and the distant beeping of machines.

The ultrasound room was cold, clinical, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. As the nurse fired up the equipment, the thrum of the machine filled the air, a background score to the tension that knotted my stomach.“Please lie down here,” the nurse directed Jade, whose movements were stiff, mechanical.

I stayed close, close enough to feel the tremble in her hand as I took it in mine. This was a place where the danger was too real, too close to the skin.

“Let’s see what’s going on,” the nurse said softly, pressing the wand to Jade’s belly, and for a moment, all the power and control I wielded on the streets meant nothing. In that sterile room, with the lives of the two people I cared about most hanging in the balance, I was just a man, stripped bare of all pretense, praying for a miracle.

The nurse looked a bit relieved, but she wouldn’t say anything. “The doctor will speak to you soon,” she said. “Please wait here.”

We waited. For five, ten minutes…talking about anything. Jade seemed to be feeling a little better, but she was clearly scared.

The doctor’s voice sliced through the tense silence as she entered, a clipboard in her hand. “Jade, Mr. Moretti,” she greeted with a nod that was both professional and reassuringly human.

“Doctor,” Jade replied, her voice steady but laced with the unmistakable edge of apprehension.

I just nodded, my throat tight, knowing words were Jade’s turf; I was the muscle, the shield, not the one to navigate the nuances of medical jargon.

After a brief examination and the hum of machinery, the doctor straightened up, her expression unreadable behind those steel-rimmed glasses. “I tried to make this as quick as possible. I assumed you wanted answers. I thought I’d reassure you: it’s nothing too serious,” she began, flipping through the notes on her clipboard. “Just a scare, really. But painful and frightening, I’m sure.”

Jade sighed. “The baby…?”

“Don’t worry, Jade,” the doctor reassured her, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Jade’s shoulder. “The baby is just fine.”

There was a silence, a pause in the world as we took in her words. The machine hummed softly in the background, like the heartbeat of the room.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice rough around the edges. I needed to understand, to know what had caused such pain, such fear.

The doctor looked at me then, her gaze steady. “Jade experienced a ruptured ovarian cyst. It’s not uncommon during pregnancy. The cyst is usually harmless and goes away on its own but sometimes…” she trailed off, grimacing slightly.

“Sometimes, they rupture,” Jade finished for her, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the white sheet covering her legs.

“Exactly,” the doctor confirmed, giving Jade a sympathetic smile. “It can be incredibly painful and even cause some light bleeding. That’s likely why you both got scared.”

“So what’s the treatment?” I asked.

“Rest,” the doctor replied simply, her gaze shifting from Jade to meet mine. “She needs to take it easy for a few days. The body should naturally absorb the fluid from the ruptured cyst.”

I ran a hand roughly through my hair, relief and frustration wrestling within me. Relief that it wasn’t something worse - God forbid something that could have harmed our unborn child - but frustration at how helpless I felt in that moment.

“But you’re sure the baby is okay?” Jade asked again, needing the confirmation.

“The baby is perfectly fine,,” the doctor reassured her, her tone as gentle as it was resolute. “You might have a bit of discomfort for a few days, but there’s no risk to your pregnancy.”

Jade let out a shaky breath, and I could see the tension slowly seeping out of her shoulders. I squeezed her hand in silent reassurance, anchoring us in that moment of relief.

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