Page 94 of Louder Than Words

Jax’s hand keeps tracing slow little circles on my arm. “It’s alright, Al. The baby’s okay,” he says gently.

The moment the words leave his lips, my head starts to swim.

“What do you mean?” I whisper, eyes locked on his, searching for any hint of a lie.

He nods toward Dr. Lavoie. “Just listen to her, love.”

She offers a tight-lipped smile and reaches across the space between us to gently pat my knee.

“I’m so sorry, Allie. Those probably weren’t the best words to start with,” she says with a soft laugh. “I just feel so bad. You’ve really been through the wringer lately, huh? First the accident, then Trevor’s crap, and now this?”

I blink, unsure how she somehow knows everything. Sure, she’s my OB, but it’s not like we work together. She’s up at the hospital while I’m just down the road at the family medicine office—

Then it dawns on me.

I crack a tiny smile and nod. “Let me guess—”

“Small town,” we say in unison.

We laugh for a second, and I hold onto it, because deep down, I know there’s something no one’s saying. I can feel it in the way her eyes keep flicking between me and Jax, and how he hasn’t taken his hands off me for more than a second.

I blow out a slow breath and close my eyes. “Tell me,” I say quietly. “Whatever it is… just tell me.”

At first, no one says anything. No one even moves.

Finally, Dr. Lavoie breaks the silence. “So, first things first, you need to eat,” she says. “You were hypoglycemic with your blood sugar at 55 when you came in. And your iron isn’t in great shape either, hemoglobin’s down to 8. You’ll need supplements and to eat more. That explains why you passed out.”

My eyes open, and I shake my head slightly. “Okay, so a pill and eating more. But why am I bleeding? I saw it before I dropped.”

Dr. Lavoie turns to face me more fully. I don’t miss the way her eyes flick to Jax briefly before landing back on me.

And my stomach drops.

“Allie,” she says softly, “we ran an ultrasound as soon as you came in to rule out ectopic pregnancy. Thankfully, the fetus iswhere it’s supposed to be.” She pauses, just long enough that the silence starts to buzz. “But we did find a large subchorionic hematoma near the gestational sack.”

Nausea rips through me, settling low at the base of my throat.

Large. Near the gestational sac.

“Wait,” Jax says, sounding completely lost, “what is that?”

I turn to him almost robotically, like I’m not in my own body. “It’s a fancy word for a blood clot,” I explain, then turn back to Dr. Lavoie. “They can resolve on their own, but—”

My throat tightens, and I can feel Jax tightening his grip gently on my arm, letting me know he’s still here. I place my hand over his, needing to feel him before I ask my next question.

“Was… was there a heartbeat?” My voice already cracks halfway through.

Dr. Lavoie glances down at the clipboard, presses her lips into a thin line, then hugs the board to her chest before meeting my eyes again.

“The baby’s measuring around eight weeks, and we did see a heartbeat, which is a good sign,” she says gently. “But it’s slower than we’d like. Right now, it’s steady at about 96 beats per minute, but we typically hope to see closer to 120 at this stage.”

I stare at her, unmoving, as a hot tear slides down my cheek.

“Is there anything we can do?” Jax asks, his voice already sounding so broken.

And it’s all my fault.

Dr. Lavoie exhales slowly, then pulls her chair a little closer to the bed. “For now, we just have to wait,” she says softly. “You’ll need to rest. No lifting, no sex. And I know it sounds impossible with everything going on, but try to keep the stress low. I’m starting you on iron supplements and a prenatal with folic acid today. Make sure to take them every day.”