going anywhere near Erin’s vagina.
“She is still early in her pregnancy, so it’s easier to use a vaginal ultrasound than a regular one,” he says and then turns off the lights. He moves the gown up and pulls the machine to him and puts it in Erin.
“Does that hurt?” I whisper to her, and she shakes her head. I see the worry in her face. I push back the hair on her head and lean down to kiss her forehead. “I’m right here,” I tell her. I hold her hand, and she lets me. She hasn’t gotten close to me in ten days. Each time, she shies away from my touch, making sure if I do touch her, it lasts three second before moving away.
“You are going to feel some pressure,” the doctor says, and then he looks at the gray and white screen. “All the black is fluid.” And then I look at the screen, amazed; he uses his finger to circle the big black circle in the middle of the screen. “This is your uterus, and in the middle is the amniotic fluid,” he says, and then slowly, a white thing comes into focus. “And in the middle of that is your baby.” I watch the screen. “You look to be about eight weeks,” he says and then points at what is the head and then the body.
“See this flicker?” He points at the small white thing blinking on the screen. “That is your baby’s heartbeat. I’m going to take some measurements.” He does something that makes a blue mark appear. “You are just a little over eight weeks,” he says, and then the baby makes a sudden movement and flips over. He presses something, and it sounds like static, and then the sound of swooshing fills the room. “And that sound is your baby’s heartbeat,” he says, and I can’t even stop the tears from rolling down my face as I watch my baby move again.
I look down at Erin, who is watching the screen as tears roll down her face. She turns and looks at me. “Our baby,” she says to me, and I just nod and lean in to gently kiss her lips.
“Our baby,” I say, smiling now, my chest feeling so full.
“It’s one hundred and seventy-nine beats a minute,” Dr. Graves says.
“Is that normal?” I ask, concerned.
“Yes, that is where you want it to be. It’s supposed to be between a hundred and sixty to a hundred and eighty,” he says. “We have four limbs, two arms, two legs.” I rub Erin’s head while he continues taking measurements, the sound of the baby’s heartbeat still filling the room. I grab my phone and take a video of the baby moving. He takes the stick out of her and then cleans the condom off and wipes it down. “So everything looks good. Do you have any questions?”
Erin shakes her head, but I ask him about twenty-five questions, and he just laughs at the end. “Someone did their research,” he says. “I will see you again in a month.” He nods at us and walks out.
“I’m going to go change,” she says, getting up and walking back into the bathroom. When she comes back out, we go back to her place, and I park the car. She took the day off. I follow her up the stairs and into her house. Walking to the middle of the living room, I turn to her.
“I know that you will never forgive me,” I start saying, and she stops moving and looks at me. “I know that I have no one else to blame for that by myself. And I know that one day our child is going to ask why we aren’t together, and I’m going to take complete blame for it,” I say, my heart pounding thinking about how horrible that day will be. “It’s going to suck.”
“Carter,” she says softly, wringing her hands. “We don’t have to tell them anything.”
“No,” I tell her. “I want them to know that he or she was created with love.” I watch her with tears now running over. “That I love their mother with everything that I have, and I will never stop loving her.”
“Carter,” she says again, and I hold up my hand.
“You don’t have to say anything.” I shake my head. “You owe me nothing, and I owe you everything.” I take a deep breath. “All the good in me is because of you. That you showed me