Page 153 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
When the doctor enters, her face is kind and calm. She reviews my chart, confirms the positive test, and explains next steps. I hear words like viability, IUD removal, and early scan, but they jumble together in my head until she rests a hand lightly on my knee.
“Because there’s an IUD in place, we’ll start with an ultrasound today—make sure everything looks good and see where the device is. Then we’ll remove it,” she says gently.
I nod, though my heart feels like it’s about to bolt from my chest.
The doctor explains each step as she sets up the machine, but her words blur around the edges. Jackson shifts closer to the table, still holding my hand, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s trying to keep me tethered to this moment.
When the screen flickers to life, a thin gray blur becomes a small, pulsing shape.
“That’s your baby,” the doctor says softly. “It’s early, but there’s a heartbeat. Everything looks reassuring.”
Something inside me splinters in the best, most terrifying way.
A soft sound breaks from my throat, and Jackson’s eyes dart from the screen to me. His expression is raw, awestruck. He squeezes my hand again, harder this time.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod, tears spilling over, my heart so full it aches. “This… is really happening?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice breaking. “That’s our baby.”
For a second, all the fear, all the questions, all the rushing thoughts fall away. It’s just us, and that tiny flicker on the screen. It’s impossibly small and yet somehow already everything.
“Good,” the doctor says quietly. “I can see the IUD strings, so removal should be straightforward. We’ll take it out now.”
The removal happens faster than I expect. There’s a pinch, a sting that makes my breath catch, but Jackson’s hand tightens around mine the moment I flinch.
“You did great,” the doctor says, her voice gentle.
I exhale, the air leaving in a shaky rush.
“I’ll want you to start prenatal vitamins if you haven’t already, and we’ll schedule your first full prenatal visit in about two weeks to go over everything in detail.”
As we walk out, I clutch the small stack of papers the nurse handed me with early pregnancy guidelines. It feels like holding the fragile first blueprint of an entirely new life.
I catch glimpses of my reflection in the glass doors as we pass: hair a little messy, eyes red, a dazed kind of wonder stamped across my face.
When we reach the truck, he opens the door for me, but I don’t climb in right away. I just stand there, staring at him.
He waits, silent, his blue eyes patient and gentle.
I let out a shaky breath, pressing my palm to my stomach without thinking. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel right now,” I whisper.
Jackson steps closer. “However you feel is okay,” he says. “Scared, happy, all of it. We’ll figure it out.”
Something knotted inside me loosens at his words. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. He holds me carefully, his face pressing into my hair.
We stand like that for what feels like forever.
When I finally pull away, there’s a softness in his eyes I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
“Ready to head home?” he asks, his voice quiet and even.
We drive home in a quiet that doesn’t feel heavy, just full. Every so often, I catch Jackson’s hand drifting over to rest on my knee or squeeze my fingers. Each touch feels like a small promise.
When we step into the house, the sound of laughter drifts in from the backyard. Miss Taylor is out there with the boys, and through the kitchen window, I see them running across the grass, shouting and chasing each other in wide, looping circles.
Jackson steps closer, brushing a light kiss over the side of my head. “They don’t have to know yet,” he murmurs, reading my thoughts. “Whenever you’re ready.”
