Page 24 of Unleashed
“PCOS?” Anthony frowns.
“Polycystic ovary syndrome,” the doctor states. “It's a hormonal imbalance when the ovaries produce excess hormones, causing irregular menstrual cycles, and can lead to infertility.”
I settle deeper into the pillows as the doctor explains what’s wrong with me. Another defect, another flaw working silently in the shadows of my body. It’s something I’ve never shared with anyone. Isaia knows, not because I told him, but because he snooped into every corner of my life.
“Is it related? The PCOS and sub…” Anthony pinches his eyes closed. “Whatever you call it?”
“Subchorionic hemorrhage,” the doctor clarifies. “Women with PCOS have a higher risk of subchorionic hemorrhage, which sometimes—but not often—leads to miscarriage.”
The word explodes through the room like a bomb, and my whole body goes still. Seizes. Shudders.
Miscarriage.
Every bone locks up, a breath caught somewhere between my lungs and heart as if the air itself has turned to stone. Ten minutes ago, I was bleeding and terrified. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. And now—now I’m sitting herewith a doctor’s voice echoing in my ears, telling me I might’ve already lost the baby I never had a chance to want.
I press my hand against my flat stomach, tears welling up as they have been for what seems like an eternity. A hollowness fills me, swallowing me whole.
A baby.
My baby.
And I might have already lost it.
Terror claws its way up my spine, so real it’s almost physical. It feels like grief, but it's not—not yet.It's panic laced with hope, with horror, with this primal ache already forming in the center of me. Like my bodyknowswhat’s at stake. And all I can do is sit here, frozen, while someone tells me whether the most unexpected, terrifying, beautiful thing to ever happen to me is already gone.
The doctor shifts slightly, softer now. “But we’re not assuming the worst, yet.”
Yet.
“We’re going to do a transvaginal ultrasound to assess the gestational sac, the heartbeat, and ensure there's no further detachment or internal bleeding. It’s the most accurate way to get a clear view, especially at this stage of pregnancy.”
The nurse moves to my side with a calm, practiced ease, pressing a button on the wall. A quiet hum follows as the exam table begins to adjust, tilting slightly, and she drapes a sheet over my hips and thighs.
Anthony moves back, giving space, his jaw locked tight, his eyes never leaving me.
“You’ll feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt,” the doctor says, nodding toward the nurse who wheels over the ultrasound machine, and it squeaks quietly against the tile. “Tell me if you feel any pain at all.”
My heart thunders in my chest, but I try to focus on the rhythm of my breath. In. Out. Shaky. Shallow.
The machine powers on with a soft beep, and my eyes close shut for a moment, every muscle bracing for the worst, while my heart desperately clings on to…something. Hope?
“There might be slight discomfort,” the doctor warns, my fingers digging into the thin mattress beneath me. The probe enters, and my body tenses. Rather than looking at the monitor, my eyes flick to Anthony, who stands just out of reach, fists clenched at his sides. And by the look on his face, I know there are a thousand thoughts running through his mind right at this very moment.
“Okay…” the doctor murmurs, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “Uterus looks intact… Sac is where it should be.”
The silence stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Then, “There.” He exhales, pointing to the screen. “There’s your baby.”
My eyes turn to the monitor. At first, it’s just static. A storm of gray and black swirls, grainy and shapeless, like a snow-blurred TV screen from another lifetime. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing. There’s no perfect outline of a baby, notiny limbs waving hello like in the movies. Just shadows. Blurs. Pockets of light and dark.
“Fetal pole is visible. Crown-rump length lines up with estimated gestational age.”
Another pause.
Then, suddenly?—
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
