Chapter Twelve
1430 Words
~ Sienna’s POV ~
Time passes so quickly, as though the entire universe is on my side.
I have been awake for the past ten minutes, sitting on my bed and trying to distract my mind from thinking about what I’m about to do.
Outside, the cherry blossom trees rustle as the gentle morning breeze blows through them. I lift my hand and catch a pink petal drifting into my room.
“God, please let my days from today be as peaceful as spring,” I pray.
At exactly nine o’clock a.m., a nurse comes in. Not Dr. Iris. This time, it is someone new with tired eyes and a name tag that says “Maria.”
“Good morning, Miss Hayes,” she greets with a smile.
I respond with a smile of my own.
She tells me that she is here to accompany me for my tests before helping me into a wheelchair. Not that I need it, but she insists.
Just as she is about to wheel me out of the room, my heart begins to beat faster than normal.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Maria asks, as though she senses my anxiety.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
Newsflash: I’m not.
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready for this.
But then again, when have I ever been ready for anything in my life?
Once inside the ultrasound room, I’m lying on a bed as Dr. Iris squirts clear gel onto my stomach. It feels gross and invasive.
“This might be a little uncomfortable,” she says, which is doctor-speak for this is going to suck.
She presses the wand against my skin while I stare at the screen. At first, it’s just black and gray blobs. Meaningless shapes. Just static noise on a monitor.
Then Dr. Iris moves the wand slightly.
And then I hear and see it.
A tiny flutter on the screen. A rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sound.
My breath catches. I have never felt or heard anything like it before.
“There’s your baby,” Dr. Iris says softly. “About five weeks along.”
Five weeks.
Five weeks, and I didn’t even know. Five weeks and I was just… walking around like nothing was inside me. Like I wasn’t already carrying a life inside me.
My eyes are glued on the screen. The tiny flutter continues, steady and strong. This fragile being, barely the size of a grain of rice, is fighting to exist. My baby is fighting to live.
Something inside my chest cracks open.
This isn’t Vincent’s baby anymore. This is a child. An innocent child that hasn’t done anything to deserve having its life snuffed out just like that.
This is a tiny, vulnerable person that is a part of me. That has been a part of me for five weeks.
This is my baby.
And I almost… I almost didn’t give it the chance to exist.
The realization hits me hard like a punch to the chest, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
My eyes burn. My throat closes up. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time.
“Sienna?” Dr. Iris’s voice sounds far away. “Are you okay?”
No. I’m not okay. I’m lying here, watching my baby’s heartbeat on a screen, and I’m completely falling apart because I was so sure I wanted to end this, and now I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t do this.
Tears start falling down my cheeks, and soon I’m crying so hard my whole body is shaking. Dr. Iris is saying something, but I can’t hear her over the sound of my own sobs.
“I can’t,” I gasp. “I can’t do it. I can’t… I can’t kill my baby.”
Dr. Iris sets the wand down and hands me tissues. She’s not saying “I told you so” or anything smug. She’s just being kind, which somehow makes it worse.
“It’s okay,” she says gently. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just calm down and relax.”
But I can’t. All I do is cry and stare at that tiny flutter on the screen and realize that my entire life has just changed again.
I’m going to have this baby.
I’m going to have Vincent’s baby.
No.
Not Vincent’s baby.
My baby.
I’m going to have this baby because this baby is mine and mine alone.
The thought of having this child should terrify me. And honestly, it does.
What if I mess this up?
What if I ruin this kid before it even gets a chance to be anything?
I have no idea how to be a mother.
What if in rasing this kid I turn into my own mother?
The thought hits harder than the rest.
My mother.
The way she left. Just… gone. No explanation. No goodbye. Like we were nothing to her.
What if I do that?
What if one day I wake up and I can’t handle it and I just—
No. I will never do that.
But I don’t even have a job or a roof over my head.
All my worries seem to fly out the door because the moment Maria wheels me into my room, my eyes land on a muscular figure standing by the window.
My heart skips at the sight of his broad shoulders, and I force myself to look away. But it’s difficult.
I should know better than to stare.
He is standing perfectly still, his back to me, silhouetted against the morning light. His suit fits him impeccably and I can see the outline of his back and shoulders beneath the fabric. For a moment, I let myself just... watch him. It’s easier than thinking about everything else.
Then—
“Are you done staring?”
My eyes snap up so fast as heat crawls up my neck, settling hot and embarrassing in my cheeks.
“I— I wasn’t staring,” I say, way too quickly.
He turns slowly.
What is Alistair Kincaid doing in my room again?
His face is just as striking as the rest of him. Without the effects of any medicine in my veins, I see him very clearly. He looks... powerful. Composed. Like someone used to getting exactly what he wants.
“Right,” he says.
That one word? He doesn’t believe me. Not even a little.
Maria clears her throat awkwardly behind me, probably sensing the tension thickening the air.
“I’ll just… help you back onto the bed,” she says gently.
I nod, and she begins to wheel me towards the bed.
But as I’m trying to stand without Maria’s help because I insisted on it, my knees wobble a little and I almost fall.
A pair of strong hands catch me before I hit the floor.
And my body—
God.
My body reacts to being touched by someone with an XY chromosome before I can stop it. I flinch hard, pulling away despite his gentleness.
I didn’t mean to, but I still did, and I hate it.
How much damage has Vincent done to me?
Alistair’s movement stops immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“It’s… it’s okay,” I manage, even though it doesn’t feel okay. None of this feels okay.
He steps back, giving me space. Not moving closer, not assuming.
“Can I help you?” he asks. Just asking.
And it hits weirdly hard.
Because Vincent never asked.
Vincent took.
Always took.
“…Yeah,” I whisper. “You can.”
Maria helps guide me, but he steps in just enough to steady me. His hands don’t grab. They don’t dig in. They don’t hurt.
They’re just… there.
Warm. Solid.
Respectful.
It feels so foreign it almost makes my chest ache.
Once I’m sitting on the bed, Maria adjusts the pillows behind me before giving a polite smile.
“I’ll give you two some privacy.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
The room feels quieter. Smaller.
Like all the air shifted to make space for him.
He pulls a chair closer and sits down, leaning forward slightly, his forearms resting on his thighs.
He studies me. Not in a creepy way. Not like I’m something to own.
“Is this a good time to talk?” he asks.
“I’m guessing you’re not here for the hospital food,” I say.
A corner of his mouth twitches with a small smile.
“No, I’m here to ask you to marry me.”
- Writer
