Chapter 73 What if...
CHAPTER 73: What if…
Silas
The rhythmic, frantic thump-thump of the heartbeat filled the sterile room, and for a brief second, I felt something jolt violently inside my chest.
There was another life caught up in this mess.
A child. Her child. A child I had promised to give my name and protection. This child.
I thought of the baby I was going to have with Simone. That child had died. We hadn't even had an opportunity to hear his heartbeat at a doctor's appointment. But hearing the steady thump of this baby's heart stirred something I didn't know inside me.
Beside me, a soft, hitched gasp broke the silence. I saw a single trail of tears disappear into Vera’s hairline. Her hand, still laced in mine tightened a fraction, her eyes on the screen where the doctor was pointing to a not so tiny blip.
A strange, suffocating emotion clawed at my throat—a protective instinct that felt very strange and real. Too real for a man who was supposed to hate and punish the woman laying on the table. Too concerned for a man who was supposed to be detached.
“And the gender?” I asked, my voice sounding like gravel. “Can you tell yet?”
Vera's gaze trailed to me, surprise etched between on her face.
“Let's see what we can find out,” Dr Caleb said.
He adjusted the probe, and almost immediately, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“There,” he pointed to the flickering gray screen. “It’s quite clear now, Mr. Rutherford, Mrs Rutherford.” Vera’s head quickly snapped back in the direction of the screen. “Congratulations. You’re having a boy.”
Vera let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. “A boy,” she whispered, her face illuminating with a raw, radiant excitement.
“A son,” I repeated. The word felt heavy, like a crown or a curse. I had no idea which it was at this point. It was not my flesh and blood but it was going to bear the Rutherford name. No matter the length of time. It was mine.
“Can I—Can we have a copy of these too?” Vera asked.
“Ofcourse, Mrs Rutherford.”
Dr Caleb began to wipe the excess gel from the transducer.
“I’ll give you both a moment of privacy. Congratulations once more. I'm going to step out and have the nurse print those ultrasound pictures you requested, Mrs Rutherford.”
Vera smiled. “Thank you, Doctor.”
I nodded, once. “Thank you, Doctor.”
As the door clicked shut, a heavy silence descended. My hand slipped out of her hands, and I noticed the immediate subtle reaction in her. Without looking in my direction, Vera sat up and reached for the paper towels to wipe her belly.
Her movements were measured, as opposed to the slight tremors in her hand. When she finished, she adjusted her clothes and shifted to step down from the high table. My feet kicked in motion before my brain. I reached out, my hands catching her waist to steady her, averting a possible disaster.
She froze. A tiny, involuntary wince crossed her features, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Thank you,” her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Be more careful.”
I noticed the subtle discomfort in her stride as she tried to find her footing.
“Are you sore?” I asked before I could stop myself. My voice was low, stripped of the “darling” facade I used for the doctor, still Vera stiffened, a dark, crimson flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She didn't dare look at me in the face, her eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.
Maybe it was how forward the question was or the lack of shame on my part that clearly mortified her.
She didn't answer with words, but the way she leaned away from my touch was answer enough. She sat down and gave a small, tight nod, still avoiding my eyes.
The door opened again before the tension could snap. Dr. Caleb stepped back in, holding a medical folder.
“The nurse is finalizing the prints; she’ll hand them to you on your way out,” he informed us, taking a seat behind his desk.
“Everything is as it should be?” I demanded, needing clinical certainty.
“The fetal heart rate is a healthy 155 beats per minute, which is perfect for this stage,” he affirmed. He turned his attention to Vera. “However, madam, your blood pressure is slightly elevated. But it's not something to worry about.”
A look of concern flashed across her face. “What can I do?”
“It could be from a number of things… likely from the excitement. But we'll keep an eye on it subsequently.”
Vera nodded. “Okay.”
“I want you focused on a high-protein diet, plenty of leafy greens and iron. Rest is paramount, but also stay active. Light prenatal yoga or walking will help with preparing and strengthening the pelvic canal.”
He paused, his gaze shifting back to me with a blunt, medical frankness.
“I should also mention that unless there is spotting or cramping, sexual relations are perfectly healthy,” he said matter of factly.
My gaze pinned Vera in her chair. “Is that right, Doctor?”
“Yes. In fact, the endorphin release is often advisable for the mother’s well-being. Just be mindful of her comfort and positioning as the bump grows.”
Vera looked as if she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. She stared at her shoes, her face burning.
My gaze darkened.
I offered a curt nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you, Doctor. I assure you, that will not be a problem.”
Vera almost winced in mortification.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
A few minutes later, we were settled back into the leather sanctuary of the Maybach.
She sat by the window, the black-and-white ultrasound pictures gripped tightly in her trembling hand. There was a weariness to her features, but her eyes gleamed, fixed on the grainy image of the little boy she was carrying.
She turned in my direction. “Thank you… for coming today,” she said in a low voice. “You didn't have to…but you did.”
Her eyes trailed back to the ultrasound pictures.
A strange feeling tugged at my mind.
What if…
I clenched my teeth, shoving that thought down.
The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
“Back to the office, sir? And then I take Madam home?”
I looked at the pictures in Vera's lap, then at the profile of the woman who bore my name but not my child. The pull of the string was no longer a metaphor; it was a physical ache.
“No,” I said, my voice cold and absolute.
“We’re going somewhere else.”