ANNY
The heartbeat vanishes when the doctor switches off the machine, but the sound follows me into the silence.
She wipes the gel from my stomach and hands me a printed summary.
“Everything remains consistent with healthy development,” she says. “Your estimated due date is February seventeenth.”
February seventeenth.
A date turns the child inside me into a future I can point to on a calendar.
Oliver looks at the paper but makes no move to take it. He thanks the doctor, then waits while I schedule the next appointment and decide which documents the clinic may release to him.
I authorize none.
He does not react.
Outside, Ucker’s car waits across the street. Oliver stops beside the clinic entrance, leaving enough space between us that I do not have to ask for it.
“Where would you l
