Chapter 9: Fifteen Weeks

On Thursday I drove back to Westbrook with Miles in the passenger seat and his hand on my knee.

We did not say much.

In the waiting room of the women's clinic, Lydia sat between us in a yellow sweater, turning a paper cup in her fingers.

She had my father's house keys on a ring in her bag.

She also had a very bright smile.

"I'm so glad you both came," she said. "I wasn't sure."

"I said I'd come to every one," Miles said.

"I know. You always do what you say."

He did not answer that.

A nurse called her name.

The room was small and dim, and there was a screen on a cart.

The doctor was a brisk woman with grey braids and warm hands, and she squeezed the cold gel onto Lydia's stomach without ceremony.

"Let's see who's in there."

The picture bloomed on the screen, grey and grainy.

A small curved shape, a flutter at its centre.

Lydia pressed her fist to her mouth.

Miles took one step toward the bed, and stopped, and I saw him not know where to put his hands.

"That's the heartbeat," the doctor said. "Strong. Nice and steady."

"Oh," Lydia whispered. "Oh, look."

"Measuring well." The doctor frowned slightly at the screen and clicked something. "Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let me check the dating." She tapped a few more keys.

"The nurse has you at twenty-three weeks, due the second week of January."

"Yes."

"This baby is measuring fifteen weeks."

The room went very quiet.

Lydia laughed, a thin sound.

"That can't be right. It's the machine."

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Kept Me Secret Seven Years, Then Proposed to Her from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.