“Alright,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
She smiled, efficient and kind, and turned to prep the machine. The gel was cold on my skin. The wand pressed down, and after a moment, the screen flickered with static and the shape of something unmistakable: a little spine, a curve of ribs, a flicker of movement.
“There,” Dr. Patel said, her voice softer now. “That’s your baby. Everything looks good.”
The room felt smaller. I stared at the screen, at the proof that something inside me was still alive and growing, even if the rest of my life was falling apart.
“That’s his foot,” Dr. Patel said. “He’s squirmy.”
She printed a photo, wiped the gel, and handed me the blurry image. “Take care of yourself, okay? We have a good OBGYN program here...you might want to make sure they see you often. And if you need anything while you’re in town, just call.”
I nodded, tucking the picture away. “Thanks.”
By the time I got back to Marco’s room, Dante was already there, jacket on, ready to run. Marco was half-asleep, but he managed a thumbs-up.
“Ready to break out of here?” he said.
Dante grinned. “Let’s get you home.”
I helped Marco up, his weight feather-light against my shoulder. We moved through the hospital like ghosts, out the doors, into the cold Toronto night.
The whole way back to the car, I kept my hand in my pocket, fingers curled tight around the ultrasound photo. It felt like proof. Not of safety, or hope, or happy endings—just that we were still here, still moving, one step ahead of the world that wanted to pin us down.
And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 10: Dante
The hospital doors hissed shut behind us, wheezing like they’d just run a marathon. I kept my arm locked around Marco’s waist, steering him across the parking lot, trying not to notice how much lighter he felt. Too light. Too fucking breakable. The wind slapped me in the face, sharp with the stink of snow and car exhaust. Above us, the Toronto skyline glittered, cold and smug.
Marco stumbled. I caught him. “Easy,” I muttered. “Almost there.”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, but his voice was wrong—thin, shaky. Sweat slicked his skin under the shirt, even though he was freezing. The doctors had patched him up, loaded him with antibiotics and painkillers, but he was still a mess.
I fucking hated it.
Wish we could just stay here, or hell, go back to New York. At least there, we had doctors who made house calls and didn’t blink at a little blood.
Jade walked ahead of us, eyes scanning the lot, shoulders hunched up against the wind. She moved careful, every step measured. One hand cupped her belly, the other jammed in her pocket. Something about her was different since she came back from her appointment—steadier, almost like she’d found her footing in the middle of all this bullshit.
I watched her, and for a second, it almost felt like things might actually settle down. Almost.
But it never lasted. Not for us. Jade was jumpy, more than usual—and not just from the cold. She hurried to the car, looked over both shoulders, then got in and slammed the door. Marco collapsed in the back, eyes half-closed, not even pretending anymore. I climbed in on the driver’s side, ran the heat full blast, but her hands were still shaking.
“Don’t do it,” she said, low.
I blinked. “Do what?”
“Tell me it’s going to be fine.” She stared straight ahead, hands cupped around the ultrasound picture she’d jammed in the cupholder. Her voice was tight, wound up so hard it barely made it out.
"I wasn't gonna," I said. "But give me another hour, and I might."
She almost smiled. Just a flicker. "It’s surprising how I can tell you’re lying now that I know you.”
“That’s a perk, I’m sure.”
“It’s something,” Jade said.
I gripped the wheel and let the engine idle. In the rearview, Marco’s head lolled to the side, lips twitching in some half-dream. He looked twelve again, like when Dad used to let him stay up late for Yankee games. The mask slipped for a second, and I felt the guilt punch right through me. I shook it off.
