The appointment
1109 Words
**Kyra**
The clinic lobby was exactly as I remembered it, too clean, too white, too cold. Even the air felt sterile, like it didn't want to carry emotion.
I sat in the waiting area with my hands folded tightly in my lap, thumb rubbing against the edge of my sweater sleeve. My stomach was in knots. I hadn't slept. Barely ate.
Two weeks had felt like two years.
Every morning had been a guessing game, was that nausea or nerves? Did my breasts hurt from PMS or something more? I had refused to take a test at home. I needed to hear it from a professional. I needed it to be real, or not real. No guessing. No wishful thinking.
The receptionist finally called my name.
"Kyra Taylor?"
I stood, legs stiff, and followed the nurse into the same hallway, past the same neutral artwork, into the same room where my life had possibly shifted without warning.
"You can sit here. Dr. Quinn will be in shortly," the nurse said, offering a kind smile before closing the door behind her.
I exhaled and sat on the paper covered exam table.
Alone.
At least for now.
**Zaire**
I hated doctor's offices. Always had. Too quiet. Too much thinking.
But I came anyway.
The message from Dr. Quinn had been short, polite but clear.
We'd like you present for a follow up regarding your preservation records.
I figured they owed me more than an apology. I wasn't just some careless donor. I'd trusted them to safeguard something sacred, my future. And now it was tangled up in something I couldn't even explain.
I stepped out of the elevator and into the clinic, dressed down in a hoodie and joggers, but still unmistakably me, tall, sharp, expensive.
The receptionist looked up, eyes wide.
"Mr. Cruz. You can go on back. Dr. Quinn's expecting you."
I nodded, pushed open the familiar door and stopped cold.
She was already there.
Kyra.
Sitting on the exam table, back straight, eyes narrowed the second she saw me.
I paused, one hand on the doorknob.
Kyra crossed her arms. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I didn't know you'd be here," I said calmly, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind me. "They told me I had an appointment. I assumed it was about the—"
"Yeah, me too."
Her tone was clipped. She looked tired. Beautiful. But tired.
I sat in the chair across the room, putting space between us.
"So," she said, eyes locked on me. "Did they tell you if I'm pregnant or not?"
I shook my head. "Didn't say."
Kyra looked away, chewing her bottom lip. Her knee bounced.
The silence stretched for a moment before the door opened and Dr. Quinn stepped in, holding a clipboard.
She glanced between us, me stiff, Kyra guarded.
"Well," the doctor said softly, "I appreciate you both coming in. I know this has been a lot."
Kyra sat up straighter.
"Let me just get to it," Dr. Quinn continued, flipping a page. "Kyra, we ran your bloodwork this morning and congratulations. You're pregnant."
The room spun.
Kyra blinked.
I sat completely still.
Kyra opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her hand touched her stomach on reflex.
Pregnant.
It was real.
The doctor continued speaking, explaining next steps, follow up appointments, ultrasound schedules, but Kyra barely heard her.
All she could think was: It's happening.
And when she finally looked at me...
I was already looking at her.
Expression unreadable.
Like everything I thought I knew had just changed.
Because it had.
**Kyra**
Pregnant.
I heard the word echo in my mind long after Dr. Quinn left the room, giving us space and promising a nurse would return shortly with pamphlets and follow up instructions.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence again.
I stared down at my hands. They were shaking.
I wasn't sure what I expected, relief? Joy? Panic?
I got all three. In waves. And none of them made sense when I remembered how this happened.
My eyes lifted to Zaire, who hadn't said a word yet.
He sat like a statue in the corner, jaw tight, hand resting on his knee, eyes on me, not with judgment, but with something heavier. Something unreadable.
"Well," I said, voice brittle, "guess there's no taking it back now."
Zaire blinked slowly, but didn't move. "You okay?"
I let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"I'm just trying to figure out where your head's at."
"My head?" I asked, turning fully toward him now. "You mean the one that got blindsided by the fact that she's pregnant by a stranger?"
He didn't flinch. Just nodded once. "Yeah. That head."
I exhaled and dragged a hand through my curls.
"I was ready to be a mom," I said quietly. "That's what I came here for. I signed the forms. I made the choice."
I looked up at him.
"But I didn't choose you, Zaire. And you didn't choose me."
A beat passed. Then Zaire stood up slowly, walking over to the counter near the exam table, eyes still trained on me.
"No. I didn't," he said, voice low. "I wasn't supposed to have a kid yet. I didn't even want to think about it until I was damn near retired and married."
"Then leave," I said quickly, a defense before he could say what I feared most. "No one's asking you to step up. It was an accident, fine. But I was going to do this with or without a man. So if you want out, go. I won't chase you."
Zaire didn't respond right away. He stared at me for a moment, long enough to make my stomach twist, then nodded once.
And then said the last thing I expected:
"I'm not going anywhere."
I froze.
"What?"
"I didn't choose this," he said. "But it happened. It's mine. That baby in there," he glanced at my belly, still flat under my sweater, "is mine. So, no. I'm not walking away."
I felt my heart thump hard in my chest.
"But we don't even know each other," I whispered.
"We'll figure it out."
His voice was calm. Certain. Like this was a business deal he'd already made peace with. But his eyes, his eyes were searching mine, like he was trying to memorize how I looked in this moment.
Raw. Real. Scared.
I didn't respond.
Didn't say yes. Didn't say no.
Because how do you respond when the man who wasn't supposed to be part of your life is now tied to it forever?
- Writer
