Page 109 of Babies for the Big Shot
“I’m just going to take a closer look,” she says. “Sometimes the images overlap this early and… oh. Oh, wow.”
“What?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
She looks at me, then back at the screen. “Well… it looks like you’re not just carrying one baby.”
The air leaves my lungs. “What?”
“There’s another heartbeat,” she says. “And… a third.”
My whole body goes still.
“I’m sorry… did you just saythree?”
She nods, her voice still calm, as if she’s delivering weather updates and not detonating my entire reality. “Yes. I’m seeing three separate heartbeats. You’re carrying triplets.”
Triplets.
Triplets.
I stare at her. At the monitor. The pulsing, blinking dots of light blur and distort, no longer signals of hope but noise scrambling my thoughts.
“Triplets,” I say again, the word slipping from my lips, barely even mine.
She nods, pulling the wand away and gently wiping my stomach. “It’s rare, but not unheard of. They look healthy so far, and we’ll monitor everything very closely from here. We’ll talk about high-risk factors and what to expect, but right now…”
I don’t hear the rest.
My pulse hammers in my ears. Vision narrows to a pinpoint. I grip the crumpled edge of the exam table, anchoring myself to a world that might as well be slipping away.
Three babies.
Three.
I’m twenty-six. Possibly unemployed. Freshly heartbroken. I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a dog who eats shoes and a closet that still smells of Nick.
And I’m going to have triplets?
I don’t remember leaving the room.
Not really.
The nurse presses pamphlets into my hands. The doctor murmurs something about the next appointment. I nod, maybe even smile… I’m not sure. Words slip away before I catch them. I’m moving through thick water, every gesture heavy, awkward, as if my body is still trying to grasp what just happened.
Triplets.
I step outside the clinic into the harsh glare of late-morning sun. It crashes over me—too bright, too loud, while the world spins on, oblivious to how everything inside me just shattered.
Triplets.
The sidewalk blurs.
My knees give out and I collapse onto the nearest bench, barely catching myself. The ultrasound photos crinkle in my fist, my anchor, my proof. My other hand trembles uselessly in my lap.
Three blips.
Not just shadows or smudges. Heartbeats.
Lives.
