Page 108 of Imperfect Desires

The private maternity clinic is serene, characterized by soft lighting, muted walls, and gentle music playing from somewhere above. Each element is designed to foster a calming atmosphere. Soothing. But nothing can quiet the flutter in my chest.

I press my hand to my belly as we walk through the double doors, Lev’s other hand hovering just behind my back, never quite touching, but always there.

He’s not speaking. Hasn’t said more than a few words since we got into the car. His jaw’s tight, and shoulders tense. Not angry—just locked in something deeper. A kind of focus that makes my heart ache. He hasn’t stopped fussing over me since I got in his car this morning.

“Alina?” the nurse calls gently.

Lev straightens before I can, nodding and stretching out his hand with a tension he can’t quite mask. He’s polite to everyone. But it’s the kind of polite that says I will fuck you over if you step out of line.

We’re led into a small, warm room. There’s a screen mounted on the wall, the low hum of machines I’ve already come to recognize. I climb onto the table, heart thudding, fingers twitching slightly as I try to steady my breath.

Lev sits beside me, close enough that I feel the warmth of his thigh against mine. He reaches for my hand. I offer it, and he takes it—holding it tight, lacing our fingers together like he’s anchoring himself with me.

The doctor enters, all calm, smiles, and practiced grace.

“How are we feeling today?”

“Nervous,” I admit.

“Excited,” Lev adds beside me, though his voice is lower. Rougher.

The doctor smiles. “That’s normal. Let’s take a look.”

She applies the cool gel to my stomach, and I flinch.

Lev’s grip tightens.

The wand moves slowly, and then—there it is.

That sound. That beautiful, steady whoosh-whoosh that somehow never gets old.

The baby’s heartbeat.

Strong. Fast. Alive. Healthy.

My eyes sting, and I hear Lev exhale beside me, long and unsteady.

“Heartbeat is perfect,” the doctor says warmly. “110 beats per minute, and you’re progressing very well.”

Lev shifts in his seat, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he’s praying through touch alone.

The doctor glances at us with a gentle smile. “Would you like to know the gender?”

My heart skips a beat, and I look at Lev. He’s already looking at me.

“Is it possible to know this early?” Lev asks. “She hardly has a bump.”

“It is possible to determine the gender of a fetus at sixteen weeks of gestation using more advanced equipment, like what we have here. However, it's safe to say that it is not always one hundred percent accurate; it's more like ninety-nine percent.”

We don’t speak, and she asks if we want to wait to find out at a later date. Lev and I look at each other and reach a silent conclusion.

“We would like to know.”

The doctor smiles and turns back to the monitor.

“Well… congratulations. It’s a girl.”

My breath catches. Lev doesn’t move. He goes completely still. His hand tightens in mine, just slightly. I turn my head to him and see his throat work around a hard swallow. His eyes—those green eyes—are shining.

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