I move my hand to her clit and stroke it as she slides up and down on my cock. I want her to come too. If she doesn’t, I feel like a selfish, inadequate lover. “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah, don’t stop.”

And just like two, perfectly synced bombs, we explode together.

Eighteen weeks—almost halfway through the pregnancy. I can’t believe how much L’s belly has changed in the last month. It’s a small bump you can barely detect beneath her clothes but I’m amazed by the way it feels when she lies flat, like a firm grapefruit protruding from her lower abdomen.

L has a visit with her OB today. I had to skip her last appointment because of work but I wouldn’t miss today for anything in the world. She’s getting her first four-dimensional ultrasound. I’ve been looking online at some of the pictures and we should be able to see our baby’s face for the first time today.

Dr. Sommersby comes into the room and does all the routine stuff first. I get to hear the heartbeat for the first time and I swear it triggers something in my chest, a sensation I’ve never felt before, and I have this crazy picture pop into my head of my heart growing like The Grinch’s.

“Are you okay?”

“That’s my first time to hear the heartbeat. I didn’t know it would make me feel like this.”

Dr. Sommersby laughs. “Well, Mr. McLachlan, you’re going to be feeling a lot of different things when you see your baby on this ultrasound. He or she is going to look a lot different than when we looked at six weeks.”

L pushes the waistband of her bottoms down and the good doctor begins the scan. It takes a minute for me to get my bearings but then it becomes clear. “Look, L.” I laugh—maybe even sort of giggling. “It’s a hand—and I can see all of the fingers.” I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I’m looking at because it’s so much better when it’s your own child you’re seeing.

I’m not sure I blink for fear of missing something. It’s moving so much—she hasn’t mentioned feeling anything. “Do you feel those somersaults?”

“Maybe little flutters here and there—nothing I registered as the baby moving. I thought it was gas bubbles or something.” She giggles.

Dr. Sommersby moves the probe and we get a perfect shot of the face so she still-frames it. “This is a nice one.”

“Look at that. It has to be a girl because that little face looks just like you.”

Laurelyn doesn’t take her eyes from the screen for a moment. “I don’t think so. That’s definitely your nose and chin so I think it’s a boy.”

“Do you want to find out who’s right?”

Neither of us answers because we’ve been having this discussion for weeks. She’s dying to know and wants to have everything purchased gender-specific and ready to go when the baby arrives. It’s killing her that Addison already knows she’s having a boy. But I want to be surprised. I think nothing would be more special than seeing your baby for the first time and hearing it’s a boy or it’s a girl.

“I’ve seen that look before. Can’t agree, huh?”

L shakes her head. “Nope, and no one is budging.”

“I can always write it down and seal it in an envelope for the one wanting to know.”

I’d rather be told now rather than her know and let it slip in casual conversation or me find out when I see a nursery painted pink or blue. So I give in, pushing aside what I want just as I always do with L, because I love her so much and want her to be happy. “It’s fine. You can tell us.”

“Let’s see if this little booger will cooperate and shows us.” She moves the probe across L’s belly. “I make it a habit to not look until I’ve been given the go-ahead so I don’t let it slip.” I hold my breath, waiting to hear the verdict. Do I have a son or a daughter?

“No, don’t tell us.” L looks at me and squeezes my hand. “I’ll know what the baby is when it gets here and I can buy all the clothes I want then. You deserve to have this surprise.”

I don’t want her to give in—that’s my job. “But you’re dying to know.”

“It’s okay. I have the rest of my life to know if it’s a boy or girl, so let’s enjoy the angst of not knowing.”

I lean up to kiss her. “Thank you, love.”

“All right, then, we’ll move on to measurements.” Our fun is over as the diagnostic part of the ultrasound begins—no more cute shots of the baby’s features. “Laurelyn, have you been having any contractions?”

“Not that I know of.” She laughs but then sees the concerned look on Dr. Sommersby’s face. “I’m assuming that’s something I would recognize, wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a first-time mom, so you might not. Any cramping at all?”

“No, nothing. Is something wrong?” I hear the panic in her voice and it sends my heart to racing.

“Your cervix length is shortened and you appear dilated. The membranes are hourglassing through the cervix.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Dr. Sommersby stops the exam. “When a mother goes into labor, her uterus contracts and over time, this is what causes her cervix to shorten, or thin, and dilate. The contractions start out mild and gradually become more intense, but that’s not the case for about one percent of pregnant women. They have weakened cervical tissue, for one reason or another, and the weight of the fetus causes dilation without any contractions at all. It usually isn’t diagnosed until the mother has had at least one second-trimester miscarriage. I’m afraid that’s what is happening here.”

I hear the word miscarriage and I’m confused. I thought we were beyond that risk. “How serious is this?”

“Critical, I’m afraid. You’re at least two centimeters.”

She’s too early. I already know it but I ask anyway. “What about the baby?”

“Viability is considered twenty-four weeks but even then, survival rate at that gestation is around fifty percent and the lifelong deficits can be devastating.”

“That’s at least five weeks away.” Laurelyn looks at me, her face pained. She doesn’t have to say the words—I doubt she could if she tried—because we both comprehend what the outcome will be. Our baby won’t survive being born now.

“We have two options: let nature take its course and allow the pregnancy to terminate on its own, or do everything possible to maintain it.”