Page 122 of Sin Bin Daddies
Asher signs her in and we’re ushered into a private waiting room with soft chairs, dim lighting, and not a single magazine in sight.
Madeline’s quiet beside me, fingers tangled with mine, and as I glance at her stomach I know one thing with more certainty than I’ve known anything.
This is our beginning.
The doctor walks in with a confident stride and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He’s in his early forties, maybe, sharp suit under his lab coat, the kind of guy who knows his reputation precedes him.
He closes the door behind him, offers a polite nod, then flashes a practiced smile.
“You must be the couple who asked for a gynecologist specializing in unique arrangements,” he says, voice smooth like he’s said this kind of thing a hundred times and seen it all. “I’m Dr. Ellis. Arguably the best on this coast, and that’s not just my opinion.”
Asher and I nod. Madeline doesn’t say a word, sitting upright on the paper-lined exam table, her legs swinging slightly like she’s trying to shake off nerves.
Asher speaks for us, his tone calm but clear. “Our situation is a little different. We’ll both be attending every appointment. We want to make sure she has all the support she needs.”
Dr. Ellis raises a brow, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Is this a throuple situation?”
Madeline flushes, gaze dropping to her lap. I rest a hand on her thigh. Her skin’s warm, tense. “There’s one more,” I say. “He’ll be coming with her sometimes.”
The doctor hums and taps his clipboard. “All of you will need to sign a confidentiality document. That way only you are privy to her medical information.”
“Fine,” Asher says, already reaching for the pen the doctor pulls from his coat.
Madeline lifts her head and finally speaks. “I’m about two months pregnant. Maybe a little more. I haven’t done any tests yet. I was actually supposed to go see a doctor to check if my IUD had come out or something. But yeah, clearly it didn’t work.”
Dr. Ellis nods, scribbles something on his clipboard. “That happens. Rare, but it happens. Okay, so let’s walk through what to expect over the next couple months.”
He describes the hormonal changes, the nausea, the bloating, the exhaustion that’s going to keep coming in waves. Mentions she’ll need to hydrate constantly.
Keep food down as much as possible, even if she has to eat like a picky toddler. Sleep, too. As much as she can manage.
He talks about prenatal vitamins, potential genetic screenings in the coming weeks, things they’ll monitor as the pregnancy progresses.
Madeline nods slowly, the information sinking in. She’s clutching the edge of the table now, her knuckles pale.
Dr. Ellis hands her a gown and asks her to change for a physical exam and ultrasound.
I step outside the curtain when she changes, Asher helping her tie the back gently, whispering something I can’t hear but that makes her lips tilt slightly.
When I come back in, she’s lying down on the table, the gown covering her chest, her belly exposed, flat still, but tense.
The room hums low with the sound of the machine as the nurse preps her. The cold gel makes her wince, and I instinctively reach for her hand. She grips it hard.
Asher stands on her other side, stroking her hair back slowly, his expression unreadable but focused.
Dr. Ellis moves the wand across her belly. We all look up at the screen, a little grainy, black and white, a little alien.
At first, I can’t make out anything. Just static movement. Then the doctor leans in, narrows his eyes, shifts the wand slightly.
He goes quiet.
Madeline shifts. “Is something wrong?”
He clicks a button. Zooms. Then leans back and lets out a breath.
“Well,” he says slowly, turning toward us with the kind of voice doctors use when they’re about to drop something big, “you’re not just having one baby. You’re having three.”
The room stills.
