Page 174 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“The procedure itself can trigger miscarriage in roughly fifteen percent of cases. Leaving it in place increases that risk to thirty percent, plus complications that could endanger Ally’s life.” Skye’s explanation comes with clinical detachment that doesn’t hide her obvious concern. “It’s not an easy decision.”
I look at Gabe, seeing something flickering behind his eyes. Shock, certainly. But something else too—something that looks almost like relief mixed with profound sadness.
“I want to keep it,” I say before rational thought can interfere. “The baby. I want to try.”
“Even with the risks?”
“Especially with the risks.” The certainty surprises me, coming from somewhere deeper than logic or careful planning. “This baby… It’s a miracle. After everything we’ve lost, everything that’s been taken from us—this is life choosing to happen anyway.”
Skye nods slowly, understanding passing between us that goes beyond the scope of a medical consultation. “Then we schedule the removal for tomorrow. Sooner is better if we’re going to attempt it.”
Tomorrow. One day to prepare for a procedure that could end everything or give us everything. One day to hold onto hope while preparing for loss.
“What are the chances?” Gabe asks quietly.
“If the removal goes smoothly and there’s no immediate trauma, roughly eighty-five percent chance the pregnancy continues normally.” Skye’s honesty is brutal but necessary. “Those are good odds, but not guarantees.”
“Nothing’s guaranteed,” I say, hand moving automatically to my still-flat stomach. “But some things are worth the risk.”
The procedure takes thirty minutes.I lie on the exam table while Skye works.
The gel is cold against my skin, making me shiver despite the warm room. The ultrasound wand presses against my abdomen as Skye searches for the perfect angle.
Gabe holds my hand throughout. His palm is rough with calluses, warm and solid against my suddenly cold fingers.
“There,” Skye announces finally, holding up the removed IUD like a trophy. The copper gleams under examination lights. “Clean removal, no trauma.”
Safe. The baby is safe.
This miraculous accident that might not be an accident at all is going to have a chance to grow, to become real, to join our broken family, and maybe help heal what trauma shattered.
“How long before we know for sure?” Gabe asks.
“Two weeks for confirmation that the pregnancy is progressing normally. Six weeks for viability assessment. Twelve weeks before we can breathe easily.” Skye strips off her gloves with satisfaction. “But all the signs are positive. This little one seems determined to stick around.”
Determined. Like Hank.
Eight weeks later, we’re back in Skye’s office for the appointment that will determine the sex of our baby. The ultrasound image shows a fully formed tiny human, fingers and toes visible, heart beating with a rhythm that fills the room like the most beautiful music ever composed.
The sound echoes off sterile walls, steady and strong and absolutely perfect.
“Do you want to know?” Skye asks, positioning the ultrasound wand for optimal viewing.
I look at Gabe, seeing anticipation mixed with something else I still can’t identify. He’s been different since the pregnancy was confirmed—brighter somehow, like a shadow lifted from his shoulders. But also quieter, more thoughtful, carrying some knowledge he hasn’t shared.
“I want to know,” he says. I smile at him and nod.
“Then I’m happy to tell you,” Skye announces with a smile that transforms her face, “you’re having a son.”
A son. A little boy who will carry forward whatever legacy we choose to give him, who will grow up knowing he was wanted and loved even before he existed.
Gabe’s smile—the first real smile I’ve seen since Hank died—transforms his entire face. Light returns to eyes that have been shadowed with grief, hope replacing despair with such sudden intensity it takes my breath away.
“A son,” he repeats softly, voice holding wonder alongside satisfaction.
“Ally?” Skye turns to me. “How are you feeling about this news?”
“Perfect.” The word comes out choked with emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. “He’s perfect.”
