23
Willa
The ultrasound gel feels cold against my belly as Dr. Layton moves the wand across my skin. Harper sits in the chair beside the examination table, her phone ready to capture pictures if the babies cooperate for clear images today.
“Let’s see how our seven little ones are doing.” Dr. Layton’s voice carries warm professionalism as she adjusts the screen angle so we can both see clearly. “At fourteen weeks, we should be able to determine genders with about seventy percent accuracy if they’re positioned well.”
The familiar whooshing sounds of multiple heartbeats fill the room, and I watch the screen with fascination as seven distinct forms come into view. They look more like actual babies now instead of the abstract shapes from earlier ultrasounds, with recognizable heads and limbs that move independently.
“Look at Baby A.” Dr. Layton points to the clearest image on the left side of the screen. “Perfect positioning. I can definitely see her gender. Do you want to know?”
“Yes, but not right now. Can you write it down for me? I want to share the information with Iskander and learn the genders when he does.”
Harper squeezes my hand as the doctor nods. “Of course.” She gestures to her nurse, who starts taking notes while she moves around the ultrasound wand.
Twenty minutes later, she’s identified all seven with remarkable clarity but doesn’t reveal the genders yet. “Each one measures appropriately for their gestational age in a multiple pregnancy, and they’re all showing strong heartbeats.”
The relief that floods through me makes me realize how much anxiety I’ve been carrying about their development.
“Everything looks excellent.” Dr. Layton wipes the gel from my belly gently. “Like I said, growth is right on track, the heartbeats are strong, and all the major organ systems are developing normally.”
She hands me a sealed envelope with the official gender results hand printed by her nurse folded inside. “I’ve included photos of each baby with their gender marked.”
I clutch the envelope against my chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to share this discovery with Iskander. Despite our fight this morning and his absence from this appointment, I want him to experience the wonder of learning about our children together. Maybe this gesture could serve as a peace offering and a way to bridge the distance our arguments have created.
“There is one concern I want to discuss.” Dr. Layton’s tone shifts to something more serious as she reviews my chart. “Your blood pressure is elevated today. It’s nothing dangerous yet, but higher than I’d like to see at this stage.”
Harper straightens in her chair, immediately alert. “How high?”
“One-forty over ninety. With a multiple pregnancy, we need to monitor any increases carefully because preeclampsia can develop rapidly.” Dr. Layton meets my worried expression with reassuring calm. “The best treatment is rest and stress reduction. I want you prioritizing sleep, limiting physical activity, and avoiding situations that spike your anxiety.”
“I’ll make sure she follows orders.” Harper’s voice carries the authority of having helped me through every crisis since high school. “What else should we watch for?”
“Severe headaches, visual changes, sudden swelling in hands or feet, or upper abdominal pain. Any of those symptoms warrant immediate medical attention.” She hands me a printed information sheet. “Otherwise, I want to see you back next week for another blood pressure check.”
I nod, processing the implications while trying not to panic. Stress reduction seems impossible when I’m living in an armed fortress while the man I love wages war against enemies who want to kill us both.
Harper helps me off the examination table as Dr. Layton finishes her notes. “We’ll get you set up with the nurse for next week’s appointment, and then you’re going straight home to rest.”
In the small bathroom attached to the exam room, I change back into my regular clothes while Harper waits outside. The envelope with gender results feels precious in my hands, like asecret I’m protecting until I can share it properly. Through the thin walls, I can hear Harper and Dr. Layton discussing my care plan in hushed tones that suggest more concern than they’re showing me directly.
When I emerge from the bathroom, the doctor is gone, and Harper stands beside the examination table with an expression that balances worry and determination. We wait for the nurse to return with scheduling information while I tell her about this morning’s argument and the ongoing conflicts between Iskander and me.
She takes a minute to process everything she’s heard before speaking. “You know I’ve never been Iskander’s biggest fan.” She settles into the chair she vacated earlier, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks no one’s paying attention though.”
I smooth my shirt over my expanding belly, surprised by this shift in Harper’s usual criticism of my relationship choices. “Where are you going with this?”
“I think he’s genuinely trying to balance impossible situations. He’s building a legitimate future while dealing with people who want to kill him for walking away and that other guy…Mikhail…? Wanting all of you dead.” She pauses, studying my face. “That doesn’t excuse missing important appointments, but maybe it explains why he struggles to prioritize correctly.”
The observation hits deeper than I expected because it mirrors my own conflicted feelings about this morning’s fight. “Are you defending him?”
“I’m trying to be fair to both of you.” Her voice carries the honesty that’s defined our friendship since we were teenagers.“You have every right to expect support from your partner, especially during pregnancy, but maybe threatening ultimatums isn’t the most effective way to get what you need.”
Heat rises in my cheeks as I remember the harshness of my words this morning. “I was frustrated and scared. The blood pressure thing proves I can’t handle much more stress.”
“So talk to him like an adult instead of backing him into corners with demands.” Her suggestion carries gentle challenge rather than criticism. “Tell him specifically what you need from him and when you need it. Give him chances to succeed instead of testing whether he’ll fail.”
The wisdom in her advice makes me feel foolish for how I handled our conversation earlier. Instead of explaining my fears about carrying seven babies or my need for emotional support, I attacked his choices and questioned his commitment to our future. My conversations with Alina spurred me on, encouraging the worst side of me to emerge in the throes of anger and frustration.
