Page 67 of The Unplannned Project

“Great. That makes it easy enough,” the technician said happily, sliding the doppler around the curve of Cici’s belly. Compared to just a few weeks ago, what we were seeing now looked entirely different. There were body parts that even my business-degree education could identify. Legs were flexing, a delicate head moved back and forth.

“It doesn’t look like that should fit inside of me,” Cici remarked, a mixture of confusion and awe in her voice.

The technician smiled. “Just you wait a few more weeks. You’ll be thinking that again.” She scrolled across the top of Cici’s belly, and suddenly we were able to see the entire baby all at once. I wasn’t sure what to do. Or say. And so I simply stared at the screen as my heart thundered.

I’d been working my entire life to protect my family. And I knew without a doubt that now, Cici and this child were a part of that family. I wouldn’t fail them like I had failed my sister. My purpose was clear.

“Are you okay?” Cici asked.

This time I shook my head. I wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot. But I knew now what I needed to do to make it better.

***

Chapter 22

Cici

I couldn’t stop looking down at the flimsy photographs in my hand. I’d known about this baby for almost four months now. I’d felt the side effects. I’d felt it move. But nothing had prepared me for the revelation that today was.

Because now I was looking into the perfectly formed face of my son.

Brady strode along the sidewalk next to me, his hand warm in my own. I knew his face mirrored my equally dopey smile. For the first time since all of this began, I realized I wanted to celebrate. I wanted to scream about this baby from every rooftop in San Francisco.

I also didn’t want to get kicked out of my apartment, so I kept my mouth shut as we stepped up close to my front door. I produced the keys, and we slipped inside, still in our bubble of bliss.

“I want to celebrate,” I announced, throwing my keys on the side table and escaping the torture of what used to be my favorite pair of red pumps.

“Really? You are ready to celebrate?”

“I’m ready.” With a squeal, I skipped around the counter to dig through my rather pitiful-looking stash of wine and champagne.

“Cecelia, you know you can’t drink that.”

“I know, but you can. And I’ll steal a sip of yours.”

Brady grinned at me, stepping close to pluck the bottle from my grip. “Deal.” With expert-level precision, he popped open the cork and set to filling one glass full and the second with only a splash.

“For you.”

“To our baby,” I said, giddiness flooding my body. Even the baby bounced happily somewhere below my ribcage.

Brady gently clinked the glasses together, the tiny bubbles inside blossoming at the motion. “To our future,” he said.

I swished down the sip with gusto and immediately refilled my glass with some flavored water from the fridge. Half the fun was drinking from the glass anyway. When I looked back up, I realized that Brady had drawn even closer, his dark eyes serious.

He looked nervous.

“We need to talk.”

“I thought we were celebrating?” I couldn’t help the disappointment that crept into my voice. I’d wanted to drink my fake champagne, order my favorite takeout, and buy a new movie to watch. I didn’t want to talk about serious stuff.

“We are.” Brady stepped into my space, his arms slipping around me.

I braced my hand on his bicep so I could lean back and look up into his face.

“What’s going on, Brady? You’ve been weird all day.”

“Marry me.”

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