Craving My Sister’s Hot Husband

First Scan

Seraphina

The drive to the hospital feels both endless and too short. Dominic’s hand rests on my thigh as he navigates traffic, his thumb drawing absent circles that betray his nerves despite the calm expression on his face. I watch the city pass outside my window and try to steady my breathing.

We’re going to see our baby.

The reality of it keeps hitting me in waves. For weeks now, the pregnancy has been an abstract thing. Positive tests. Morning nausea. The tenderness in my breasts. Dominic’s hand on my flat stomach. But in less than an hour, we’ll see proof. A heartbeat. A tiny form on a screen. Something real and undeniable.

“Nervous?” Dominic’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.

“Terrified,” I admit. “What if something’s wrong? What if there’s no heartbeat? What if—”

“Stop.” He squeezes my thigh gently. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But worrying won’t change anything.” He glances at me, then back at the road. “Besides, you’re healthy. Young. There’s no reason to expect problems.”

I want to believe him. Want to sink into that certainty and let it calm the butterflies rioting in my stomach. Instead, I twist my hands in my lap and watch the hospital come into view.

It’s a modern building, all glass and steel, with a dedicated women’s health wing that the receptionist directed me to when I made the appointment. I’d given my real name, Seraphina Clarke, and when she asked about the father, I’d hesitated only a moment before saying he’d be attending.

She didn’t ask if we were married. Didn’t ask anything beyond basic medical history and insurance information. For all she knows, we’re just another couple excited about their first baby.

Which we are. Just with significantly more complicated circumstances than most.

Dominic parks in the garage and cuts the engine, but neither of us moves immediately. The silence stretches, heavy with anticipation and something that feels like fear.

“This is it,” I say quietly.

“This is it.” He turns to look at me fully. “Once we go in there, once we see that screen, everything changes. You understand that, right?”

“I know.”

“There’s no going back from this. No pretending it’s not real. No—”

I lean across the console and kiss him, cutting off whatever spiral he’s heading toward. When I pull back, his eyes are softer.

“I don’t want to go back,” I tell him. “I want this. Want our baby. Want everything that comes with it, complicated or not.”

He studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. Let’s go meet our baby.”

The waiting room is exactly what I expected. Pastel walls. Comfortable chairs. Magazines about parenting are scattered on low tables. And pregnant women everywhere. Some are huge and obviously near their due dates. Others are barely showing. A few who might be as early along as me.

We check in at the desk and the receptionist, a cheerful woman with graying hair, hands me a clipboard of paperwork.

“First ultrasound?” she asks with a knowing smile.

“Yes.”

“How exciting! Just fill these out and we’ll call you back shortly.”

Dominic guides me to two seats in the corner, away from the clusters of other waiting patients. I work through the forms mechanically. Name. Date of birth. Medical history. Last menstrual period. Estimated due date based on that.

When I get to the section about the father, I hesitate. There’s a line for his name. For his medical history. For any genetic concerns.

Dominic leans over and points to the blank line. “Put my name.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s my baby.”

I write Dominic Ashcroft in careful letters and something about seeing it there on paper makes it more real than anything else so far. Official. Documented. A record that this baby belongs to both of us.

I return and sit next to him, my head resting on his shoulder and be stroke my hair.

“Seraphina Clarke?” A nurse appears in the doorway with a tablet, scanning the waiting room.

My heart jumps. “That’s me.”

“Come on back.” She smiles warmly as we approach. “Dad’s coming too?”

“Yes,” Dominic says before I can answer.

She leads us down a hallway lined with exam rooms, making small talk about the weather and how exciting first ultrasounds are. My palms are sweating. My heart is racing. Every step feels momentous.

The exam room is small but comfortable. There’s a padded table, an ultrasound machine on a wheeled cart, and dim lighting that’s somehow both clinical and intimate.

“Go ahead and lie back,” the nurse instructs. “The doctor will be in shortly. You can leave your shirt on, just pull it up to expose your lower abdomen.”

She leaves and I climb onto the table, the paper crinkling beneath me. Dominic takes the chair beside me and reaches for my hand.

“Breathe,” he murmurs.

“I am breathing.”

“You’re holding your breath.”

He’s right. I force myself to exhale and he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.

A knock at the door, then it opens to reveal a woman in her forties with kind eyes and an easy smile.

“Seraphina? I’m Dr. Martinez. And you must be Dad?”

“Dominic.” He doesn’t let go of my hand.

“Wonderful.” She settles onto a stool and rolls close to the machine. “So this is your first ultrasound. Based on your dates, you should be about seven weeks along. Is that right?”

“I think so. Maybe eight?”

“We’ll be able to tell more accurately once we get some measurements.” She pulls the ultrasound machine closer. “Now, at this stage, the baby is very small. About the size of a blueberry. We should be able to see the gestational sac, the yolk sac, and hopefully a nice strong heartbeat. Sound good?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“This gel is going to be cold. Sorry about that.” She squirts clear gel onto my exposed stomach and I flinch at the temperature. “You can hold Dad’s hand as tight as you need to.”

The wand presses against my skin and Dr. Martinez angles the screen so we can both see it clearly. For a moment, there’s nothing but grainy black and white static. Then she adjusts something and the image shifts.

“There we go.” Her voice carries satisfaction. “See this dark circle here? That’s your gestational sac. And this smaller circle inside is the yolk sac, which is feeding the baby right now.”

I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of the abstract shapes. Dominic’s hand tightens on mine.

“And here…” Dr. Martinez moves the wand slightly. “Is your baby?”

A tiny white blob appears on the screen. So small. So impossibly small. But there. Real. Visible.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

“Let’s see if we can find that heartbeat.” Dr. Martinez presses a button and suddenly the image changes, colors blooming across the screen. “There it is.”

A rapid flutter. Quick and strong. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“That’s the heartbeat,” she confirms. “Nice and strong. About 145 beats per minute, which is perfect for this stage.”

I can’t speak. Can’t do anything except stare at that tiny flickering light on the screen. Our baby’s heart. Beating. Alive. Real.

Dominic makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be something else entirely. When I tear my eyes from the screen to look at him, there are tears on his face.

“That’s our baby,” he says, his voice rough. “That’s really our baby.”

“Yes,” Dr. Martinez says warmly. “That’s your baby. And from what I can see, everything looks exactly as it should. Let me take some measurements and we’ll get you a more accurate due date.”

She works quietly, clicking and measuring, and I watch the screen as if I look away the image might disappear. Dominic brings my hand to his lips again and this time he holds it there, pressed against his mouth like a prayer.

“Based on the measurements, I’d say you’re about seven and a half weeks along. That puts your due date around…” She does some calculations. “Late August. August 28th to be precise, though babies come when they’re ready.”

August. Late summer. I try to imagine it. Being huge and pregnant in the heat. Meeting this tiny blob when it’s a fully formed baby. Holding it. Our baby.

“Everything looks great,” Dr. Martinez continues. “The heartbeat is strong. Growth is on track. No concerns at all.” She presses a few more buttons. “I’m going to print you some pictures. And I want to see you back in four weeks for another ultrasound, okay?”

“Okay.”

She finishes up and hands me several printouts. Black and white images of that tiny blob, measurements labeled on the side, the date stamped at the top.

“Congratulations,” she says, standing. “Take your time. The nurse will give you some prenatal information on your way out.”

Then she’s gone and we’re alone with the photos and the reality of what we just saw.

Dominic takes one of the pictures with shaking hands. “We made this.”

“We did.”

He leans down and kisses me, his hand sliding to my stomach where the gel is still drying. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this. For carrying our baby. For letting me be here for this.” He kisses me again. “For being mine.”

I reach up and cup his face, feeling the dampness of tears on his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I know.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I know you do.”