The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

26

PARIS SWIFT-KELCE
I lay back on the cold exam table, the familiar sound of the ultrasound machine whirring beside me, but this time, the experience feels foreign. I've done countless ultrasounds in my career, yet being on the receiving end of it feels so different—unnerving. My heart races as I glance at my mom, sitting beside me, offering silent support.

"Mom, I'm scared," I admit, my voice trembling. I've been strong for so long, but right now, everything feels like it's crumbling.

She reaches over, squeezing my hand. "That's okay. The first time was really scary for me too."

I let her words sink in, but the fear still lingers. "What if I see the baby and... and realize I don't want to keep them?" The thought feels almost too heavy to say out loud, but it's been gnawing at me since I found out.

My mom's expression softens, her eyes filled with understanding. "That's okay too. Not everyone needs to be a parent."

Her calmness surprises me. I expected more—encouragement, maybe even a little pressure. But instead, she's giving me space to feel whatever I need to feel.

"But I do want to be a mother," I say, almost pleading. The dream of having a family has always been there, but now that it's real, it feels overwhelming.

"There's always the future, Paris," she says gently. "You don't have to have this baby if you don't think you're ready. It's your choice, no matter what. You don't have to rush into it just because it's happening now."

Her words give me a moment of relief, though the decision weighs heavily on my mind. I look up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath as the sonographer gets ready. The gel is cold against my skin, and for a second, everything goes quiet—the only sound is the steady hum of the machine.

"Are you ready?" the sonographer asks softly.

I nod, though I'm not sure if I truly am.

The sonographer begins to move the transducer, I focus on the rhythmic motion, willing myself to breathe steadily. My mom squeezes my hand tighter, as if to anchor me in this moment.

The screen flickers to life, illuminating the dim room with shades of gray. I hold my breath as the image slowly comes into focus, a small, fuzzy shape appearing amidst the swirling patterns of light and shadow.

"There it is," the sonographer says, her voice calm and professional. "That's your baby."

A rush of emotions floods through me—fear, excitement, confusion. I squint at the screen, trying to comprehend what I'm seeing. The small figure looks so fragile, so tiny, and yet it feels like the most significant thing in the world. I can see a flicker on the screen—a heartbeat.

"Oh my god," I whisper, tears brimming in my eyes.

"Look, there's the heartbeat," my mom says, her voice filled with wonder. "It's beautiful."

The sonographer points out the features on the screen, explaining what I'm seeing: the head, the body, the spine. It's all so surreal. My heart aches at the realization that this small being is a part of me, a life I created.

But the fear creeps back in, gnawing at the edges of my joy. What if I can't be the mother this baby deserves? What if I fail?

"Mom, what if I'm not ready for this?" I whisper, my voice shaking. "What if I can't do it?"

She turns to me, her expression softening. "Paris, you don't have to have all the answers right now. You're seeing the baby, and that's a big step. You can take this one day at a time. Just because you see them doesn't mean you have to make a decision today."