Page 117 of Sugar & Shadows

With that, she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

I couldn’t move.

“Sabrina?”

I couldn’t speak. Or lift my head. I just stared at my hands. This baby was real now. Wanted. Mine.

And the thought that she could be hurt? It felt like my heart was cracking inside my chest.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me. “I’m here,” Gabe said softly into my hair. “You can do this. Just one step at a time.”

When I’d finally found the strength to stand, he turned around, giving me privacy while I slipped into the gown and settled myself on the exam table. The paper crinkled beneath me as I scooted back, trying to breathe while fighting back tears.

“What if something happens?” I croaked. “According to this paperwork, the trauma to the uterus could cause iatrogenic pregnancy loss.”

“It won’t.” He zeroed in on me, intense. “You’re Sabrina Fucking Monroe. You are an overachiever through and through. That extends to the capabilities of your uterus. Yanking out a tiny piece of plastic isn’t going to change anything.”

“I did get pregnant with an IUD,” I offered.

He smiled. “See? This uterus ignored birth control. An aggressive overachiever if I ever saw one.”

Dr. Moss came back and fired up the ultrasound machine, surprising me by squirting gel onto my stomach. “We’ll start abdominally first,” she said, sparing me the vaginal wand, also known as the world’s least dignified medical device.

“Okay, here we are,” she said, doing that clicking and measuring thing Dr. Storrow had done. “See that heartbeat? Strong and fast, around one-seventy. Exactly what we want.”

Tearing up, I drank in every detail of the gray blur on screen. “Hello again,” I whispered. She was there. Beating strong. The beautiful little flutter.

The room was silent while the doctor measured and clicked and measured some more. I was in awe. Last time, I hadn’t understood what I was looking at, but now? The gray blobs made sense. And there was a tiny person in there.

“You’re measuring at eight weeks and five days.”

Gabe hovered next to my head, staring at the screen, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The sight stole the breath from my lungs.

“We did this?” he whispered, ducking his head.

We locked eyes, and for the first time since my life had imploded and I’d come back to Maplewood, I didn’t feel alone.

“Here is the device,” Dr. Moss explained.

Sure enough, the tiny T showed up on the screen.

“The good news is that the strings are visible, so it’s easily accessible. Looks like it was knocked out of position. Are you ready for removal?”

“Yes,” I said.

The nurse in yellow scrubs who had been silently standing by the door pushed a table over, the steel instruments on it clinking softly.

My stomach dropped and my heart raced. It was time.

She took the ultrasound wand and moved it around on my belly so that the strings were centered on the screen.

Doctor Moss got into position, raising the table, and held up what looked like a long, skinny pair of tongs. “These are my forceps. I’m going to insert them, find the strings, get sufficient traction, and then pull the IUD out.”

Gabe stood next to me, holding my hand, his breathing shallow.

“Please stay perfectly still,” she instructed.