Page 104 of Louder Than Words

Before I can say anything, three soft taps sound at the door, and in walks Dr. Lavoie.

Of course she’s wearing the same expression as always: a too-bright, overly friendly smile paired with a loud greeting as she heads straight to the sink to wash her hands.

My eyes follow her, the way her hands move, how thoroughly she scrubs them under the water. She twists and turns her wedding ring like it’s not even a second thought anymore. Justlike how breaking bad news must become when you’ve done it long enough—like Dr. Lavoie has.

“So,” she says, her voice startling me slightly. I glance up as she sinks into her chair and boots up the computer. “How are we feeling, Allie? Any more syncope? How about spotting?”

I blink at her. “Uh, no? No more fainting. No morebleeding.” I make it a point to saybleeding, notspotting.Because there’s a difference between the two, a big one.

One makes you worry, but in the end everything is fine.

The other makes you start to say goodbye—just in case.

I had the latter.

“That’s good,” she says, already too busy typing my responses into the computer to hold her practiced smile.

Her eyebrows knit as she studies the screen, eyes probably landing on whatever notes made it clear this wasn’t going to be the happy check-in she expected.

My assumption is confirmed the second she turns away from the monitor, rolls her chair a little closer, and leans forward, elbows on her knees.

I want to scream. To tell her to just say it. To stop tiptoeing around it. That Jax and I already prepared ourselves. That we’re okay. We just need her to confirm what we already know.

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel Jax’s warm hand close around mine, trying his best to ground me, but instead, I’m just… here.

Existing.

Dr. Lavoie exhales slowly. “And how about the nausea? Do you think you want to try something for it?”

My eyes fly open.

I glance at Jax, who looks just as confused as I feel.

He turns to face Dr. Lavoie. “She’s finally keeping down small things, but she still gets nauseous.”

“Well, we definitely want to see you eating,” Dr. Lavoie says softly. Then her smile returns, growing so fast I forget how tobreathe when she adds, “But whatever you’re doing, keep it up—because baby looks great.”

A tiny gasp escapes my lips while tears sting my eyes. I don’t even have to look over to know Jax wears the same expression.

My hand rises automatically, cupping my mouth. “W-what?” I choke out, not even realizing I’m already crying.

Dr. Lavoie’s brows pinch tightly as her eyes flick between Jax and me. “Did you guys not see? The tech was supposed to send you with printouts,” she says, her tone dropping for the first time I’ve heard in six years.

Any thought I might have had, officially leaves my brain.

I remember the tech trying to hand them to us, but we were just confused. Why would we want that kind of reminder in a keepsake to mourn? It felt cruel.

Our baby’s okay?

Apparently, our silence was answer enough.

Dr. Lavoie leaves her seat, murmuring she’ll be right back as she slips out of the room.

I spin, searching for Jax beside me, but I don’t even need to. He’s already springing from his chair, wrapping his big arms around me, peppering my head with so many kisses it makes me feel drunk in the best way possible.

Then, in a matter of seconds, Dr. Lavoie returns with a portable ultrasound machine, wheeling it in as Jax jumps up to hold the door open for her.

“Oh, thanks, Jax,” she says, plugging in the machine. Then she gestures from me to the exam table. “You know what to do, Allie. Lay back, shirt up.”