ULTRASOUND

The next day, I got up as early as I could and headed to a hospital. I wasn’t going to keep Salvatore Moretti’s child.

“Please, have a seat,” the doctor said as I stepped in his office.

“Im here for, um…” I muttered, my lips parting, while I stared at him, unable to speak.

“The nurses already filled me in on what you’re here to do, I just want you to know that it’s okay, and while we’re on that, would you like to see other alternatives, giving it up for adoption or—“

“No, I want to get rid of it,” I said sharply, swallowing hard.

The doctor watched me quietly for a moment, like he was measuring whether I truly meant the words I had just spoken. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk before he leaned back in his chair. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice calm, almost too calm for the storm raging inside my chest.

Before we proceed, we’ll have to confirm the pregnancy through an ultrasound and a blood test. Standard procedure.”

I nodded quickly. “That’s fine.”

He pressed a button on the desk. A nurse appeared seconds later and he gestured toward me. “Please take Ms. Russo to imaging.”

The nurse smiled politely as she motioned for me to follow her. I stood up, my legs feeling strangely weak as I walked behind her through the quiet hallway. The hospital smelled strongly of antiseptic, the clean scent clinging to the air and making my stomach churn slightly. We entered a small room with a narrow bed and a machine beside it.

“Lie down please,” the nurse said gently.

I climbed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling while she prepared the machine. The gel she spread across my stomach was cold, making me flinch slightly.

“Relax,” she murmured as she moved the probe slowly across my skin.

I turned my head to the side, refusing to look at the screen. I didn’t want to see anything. Seeing it would make it real, and I didn’t want it to be real.

For a moment there was only silence. Then a faint rhythmic sound filled the room.

Fast. Steady.

My breath caught in my throat.

“What… is that?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The nurse glanced at the monitor. “That’s the heartbeat.”

My fingers curled tightly against the edge of the bed. Heartbeat. The word echoed in my head like a hammer striking metal.

“It’s strong too,” she added softly. “You’re about five weeks.”

Five weeks.

I swallowed hard and turned my face further away from the screen. “I don’t need to see it,” I muttered.

She didn’t respond, only finished the scan and wiped the gel from my stomach before helping me sit up. A few minutes later I was back in the doctor’s office again, sitting across from him while he studied the report in his hands.

“You are pregnant,” he confirmed, placing the paper down. “Approximately five weeks along.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“And you’re certain you want to proceed with the termination?”

“Yes.” The word came out quickly, almost defensively.

He nodded slowly. “In that case, we can schedule the procedure for tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow.

The word made something twist painfully inside my chest, but I forced myself to nod again. “Okay.”

He slid a set of papers across the desk toward me. “These are the consent forms. Read them and sign at the bottom.”

My hand trembled slightly as I picked up the pen. The paper blurred for a moment before my vision cleared again. Slowly, carefully, I wrote my name at the bottom.

Celine Russo.

When I stepped outside the hospital a few minutes later, the sunlight felt too bright against my eyes. People walked past me on the street, laughing, talking, living their lives like nothing in the world had changed.

But everything had changed. Without thinking, my hand moved to my stomach.

Five weeks.

One heartbeat.

I quickly pulled my hand away and shook my head. “No,” I whispered under my breath. “This is the right decision.”

Because there was no way I was going to bring Salvatore Moretti’s child into this world.

I walked back home, holding back the tears that burned my eyes the entire time.

Three months ago, I’d have died to have Salvatore’s child, but now— I shook my head as I pulled the door to my apartment open, the sound of the ultrasound replying in my ears.

The small grainy image I managed to see, it all came crashing down on me again.

“I want to keep you, but I can’t,” I muttered, stroking my stomach as I whispered to it, tears falling freely down my face.

My baby was innocent, he was made out of love, pure love and right now, I was about to—

“No!” I said to myself resolutely. My baby was innocent, I was innocent, I'm not going to unalive my child because it’s father is an arsehole.

It is my baby, I’d raise it, alone, to the best of my ability, well enough that Salvatore Moretti would never know if its existence.