Chapter 60 Measure of time
The waiting room of the Saint Jude Women’s Clinic felt like a sanctuary of sterile silence, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic ticking of a clock that seemed to echo my own erratic heartbeat. I sat on the edge of the molded plastic chair, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles were white. Every time the heavy door to the clinical wing opened, a fresh wave of the metallic nausea I’d come to know so well washed over me.
"Elena M.?" a nurse called out, her voice kind but efficient.
I stood up, my legs feeling like they belonged to a stranger. I followed her through the maze of white hallways, the scent of antiseptic and lavender oil thick in the air. I was lead into a small, darkened room dominated by a large monitor and a bed draped in crinkly paper.
"The doctor will be in momentarily," the nurse said, handing me a thin blue gown. "Please change and make yourself comfortable."
Comfortable. It was a word that no longer existed in my vocabulary.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Aris, a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that had seen a thousand beginnings, entered the room. She looked at my chart, then at me, her expression softening. "You’re a nurse, aren’t you, Elena? I recognize the way you’re looking at the equipment. You’re trying to read the calibration before I even turn it on."
I offered a weak, shaky smile. "Old habits, Doctor. I just... I need to know. I need to know exactly how far along I am."
"Well, let’s see if we can give you some answers," she said, gesturing for me to lie back.
The gel was cold—a shocking contrast to the feverish heat of my skin. Dr. Aris moved the transducer across my lower abdomen, her eyes fixed on the screen. For a few moments, there was only the sound of the machine’s hum. My breath was trapped in my lungs, a captive bird waiting for a signal.
"There," Dr. Aris said, pointing to a flickering, bean-shaped shadow on the screen. "There’s the heartbeat. Strong and steady. About 150 beats per minute."
The sound filled the room—a rapid, rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump that sounded like a drum in the distance. Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and silent. It was real. It wasn't just a chemical reaction on a plastic stick; it was a life.
"Now, let's get those measurements," the doctor murmured, clicking the keys on her console. She measured the crown-to-rump length with clinical precision. I watched the numbers flicker: 3.2 centimeters. 4.1.
"Okay, Elena," she said, turning the monitor toward me. "Based on the fetal development and the size of the gestational sac, you are approximately ten weeks and four days along."
My heart stopped.
"Ten weeks?" I whispered, the math screaming in my brain. "Are you sure? It couldn't be... sixteen? Or seventeen?"
Dr. Aris shook her head firmly. "At seventeen weeks, we would see a much more developed skeletal structure and clear limb movement. This is definitely a first-trimester fetus. Ten weeks and four days puts your conception date right at the end of December. Does that align with your timeline?"
I felt a sob of pure, unadulterated relief break from my throat. December. The month Victor had brought me into the mansion. The month we had spent those long, snow-dusted nights in the basement, talking about art and the stars until the line between nurse and partner had blurred into nothingness.
It wasn't Liam's.
The shadow of the silver car, the wreckage of my past, the nightmare of the Jenkins family—it all fell away. This life was born of light, not of the darkness Liam had forced upon me. It was Victor’s.
"Elena? Is everything alright?" Dr. Aris asked, reaching for a tissue.
"Yes," I choked out, laughing through the tears. "Yes, Doctor. Everything is perfect. It’s... it’s exactly what I needed to hear."
I practically floated out of the clinic, the weight that had been crushing my chest for days finally lifting. The sun was breaking through the afternoon clouds, casting long, golden shadows across the parking lot. I reached my car, locked the doors, and immediately dialed Maya.
"Maya! Maya, answer the phone!" I shouted the moment I heard the click.
"El? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm at the clinic, Maya. I just had the scan." I was shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. "Ten weeks, Maya. Ten weeks and four days."
There was a silence on the other end, then a scream of joy so loud I had to pull the phone away. "I knew it! I knew it in my soul, Elena! It’s his! It’s the Grinch’s baby!"
"It’s Victor’s," I sobbed, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. "It’s a piece of him, Maya. If he’s on that table in Turkey right now... if he’s fighting... he has a son or a daughter waiting for him. I’m not carrying a tragedy. I’m carrying a miracle."
"You have to tell him, El," Maya said, her voice thick with emotion. "The moment he wakes up. You have to give him that reason to get out of that bed."
"I will," I promised. "I’ll call the hospital in Istanbul the second Vane gives me the all-clear. Oh, Maya, I can finally breathe. I can go to Paris and I can tell him and we can be a family."
"Wait," Maya’s voice suddenly turned cautious. "What about Liam? And his mother? She heard you, Elena. She thinks it's Liam’s."
"Let her think what she wants," I said, a new, cold iron entering my voice. "I have the medical records now. I have the proof. If she tries to come near me or this child, I’ll show her the truth. They have no power over me anymore."
"Just be careful, El," Maya warned. "People like the Jenkins don't handle 'no' very well. Especially when they think they have a claim on something."
"I don't care about them," I said. "I only care about Victor. I’m going home to see Leo and Mom, and then I’m going to wait by the phone for the news from Turkey."
I hung up, looking at the black-and-white thermal printout of the ultrasound lying on the passenger seat. The little flickering shadow. My sunshine’s child.
I started the engine, feeling a sense of peace I hadn't known in years. I was no longer the girl in the passenger seat, waiting for the crash. I was a mother, a designer, and the woman Victor Blackwood loved.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I didn't see the black sedan parked across the street. I didn't see the tinted window roll down an inch, or the flash of a camera lens. I only saw the road ahead, bright and clear, leading me toward a future I was finally brave enough to claim.
The Crimson Moon had passed. The sun was coming up. And this time, it was staying.