Page 20 of Her Darkest Possession
I give her hand another reassuring squeeze, watching her face carefully. She blinks, coming back to the present, and squeezes back. There's still strength there, despite everything.
"I'll be right here the whole time," I promise her.
Dr. Martinez begins explaining the procedure step by step in a soothing, professional voice. Indigo nods along, but I can feel the tension in her grip.
"Are you ready?" the doctor asks.
Indigo takes a deep breath. "Yes."
As the ultrasound begins, I keep my eyes fixed on Indigo's face, studying every micro-expression. I want to absorb any discomfort she feels, take it into myself if I could. This woman who has suffered so much yet remains unbroken—she shouldn't have to endure anything else. Not alone, at least.
"Try to relax," Dr. Martinez encourages. "I know it's uncomfortable."
Indigo's eyes find mine, and I see a vulnerability there that makes my chest ache. For a moment, she lets her guard down completely, allowing me to see her fear and uncertainty.
I bring her hand to my lips again, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.
Dr. Martinez moves the wand carefully, her eyes fixed on the monitor as she adjusts the image.
"There we go," she says, turning the screen slightly so we can both see it better. "Take a look."
I lean forward, unsure what I'm looking for at first. Then I see it—a tiny, curved shape in the center of a dark space. It's small and doesn't have quite the recognizable shape of a baby yet, but the basic shape of tiny life is there.
Our baby.
"That's..." I can't finish the sentence. Something's caught in my throat.
"That's your baby," Dr. Martinez confirms with a smile. "I would say you’re at approximately five weeks, which matches up with what Mrs. Baryshev said."
Five weeks. I do the math quickly in my head. The night after we came back from the gala, likely. The first time she begged for me and the marathon of lovemaking we went through that night until both of us were breathless and spent.
I stare at the screen, transfixed.
I'm familiar with the way life leaves bodies. But I'm an absolute stranger to the creation of it. And when Indigo's hand squeezes mine as we stare at this tiny shape that will become our child, something profound moves inside of me as well.
It's unlike anything I've ever experienced.
"And everything is alright?" Indigo asks, her voice tight with worry. "The baby is fine?"
"Yes." Dr. Martinez assures her. "In fact."
She presses a button on the machine.
Suddenly, a rapid whooshing sound fills the room—quick, rhythmic, almost like galloping horses.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
I freeze, my hand tightening around Indigo's as a gasp tumbles from her lips. The sound is fast—much faster than I expected—and it's strong.
"Is that…" I start again, unable to form coherent thoughts.
"Your baby's heartbeat," Dr. Martinez confirms. "Nice and healthy at 150 beats per minute, which is exactly where we want it to be at this stage."
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
Our baby's heartbeat. It's real. This is real. They're still here, just like she's still here.
Indigo's eyes are fixated on the monitor with wonder. A smile slowly breaks out across her face, and then a single tear rolls down from the corner of her eyes. Without hesitation, I reach out and brush the tears from her cheek with my thumb.
