Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Everything stops.
The sound is faint but impossibly clear, a rapid rhythm dancing urgently through the air. Stronger and faster than I imagined possible, like tiny, determined footsteps marking territory inside me.
Our child’s heartbeat.
My hand flies to my mouth, a sharp breath escaping, eyes wide and filling dangerously fast. Emotion slams through my chest, fierce and sudden.
Dr. Morales nods gently, reassuringly. “That’s a healthy fetal heartbeat. About six weeks, give or take. It’s early, but very strong.”
I nod again, blinking back tears, holding tight to the edge of control.
“Do you want to hear it for a moment longer?” she asks softly.
I can’t speak, can only nod again.
She turns the volume up slightly, and now the heartbeat fills every inch of the room, powerful despite its tiny, fragile source. It’s raw. Beautiful. Terrifyingly real.
My gaze flicks immediately to Kane.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. He remains stone-still, still leaning heavily against the wall, expression unreadable. But his eyes…his eyes are wrecked. Not wet, not tearful, but shattered, frayed at the edges, barely holding back a storm of unspoken feeling.
I reach toward him instinctively.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice trembling.
He hesitates for just a heartbeat, then moves toward me, steps measured, careful, until he’s standing at my side. He looks down at the monitor, then at me, then at the small, impossible sound still echoing quietly in the air between us.
“That’s the baby,” I say, voice catching. “That’s ours.”
He says nothing, jaw tightening like he’s afraid to let go, afraid he’ll unravel completely if he tries.
I reach for his hand, taking it gently, guiding it slowly until his palm rests flat over my stomach, just as I’d done last night. Just as I will keep doing, until this moment finally sinks in for both of us.
“This is really happening,” I whisper softly.
Kane nods once, a small, tight motion, then again more fiercely, as if convincing himself.
Still no words.
When the heartbeat fades, and Dr. Morales quietly packs away her tools, softly excusing herself to give us a moment, Kane leans down without hesitation. His lips press against my stomach, reverent, almost tentative. One kiss, slow, lingering, impossibly tender.
Another to my hand, gentle, grateful.
Finally, he moves to my mouth. His kiss is fierce yet careful, deep and searching. A silent promise pressed desperately against my lips.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
Because etched clearly in the fierce, careful silence he’s wrapped around us, I can hear every word:
I’ll keep you both safe.
With my life.
With my death.
With everything I am.
