Invisible String

7

A few weeks had gone by, and everything had started to feel... real. The pink cupcakes were a memory now, the baby registry was slowly coming together, and my belly had that tiny roundness that only I could notice. We were getting there. I was finally letting myself believe that this baby girl was sticking.

Until I saw the blood.

It wasn’t much—just a little when I went to the bathroom—but my heart dropped into my stomach. I sat there, frozen, a hand hovering over my lower belly. I told myself it could be normal. I knew spotting could happen during pregnancy. But my gut told me something else. Something felt off.

I didn’t even flush. I just stood up on shaky legs, pulled my phone out, and called Travis.

“Hey babe, I’m grabbing coffee. You want—”

“I’m spotting.”

Silence. Then the slam of a car door.

“I’m coming. I’ll be there in five.”

I hung up, grabbed my keys, and by the time he pulled into the driveway, I was already pacing by the front door. His eyes locked onto mine, and he didn’t even say anything. Just pulled me into his arms.

“I have a bad feeling, Trav,” I whispered into his hoodie. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

“Let’s go to the doctor,” he said immediately. “Now. Just to be safe.”

So we did.

The car ride was silent except for the sound of my breathing, which I was trying to keep steady even though I felt like I might throw up. Travis had one hand on the wheel and one hand on my knee the entire time, his thumb rubbing slow circles into my skin like he could erase the fear with a touch.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

By the time we got to the doctor’s office, they had already made room for me. I guess when you’re me, they clear the schedule. Perks of being a celebrity, I guess—though I would’ve traded that for a guaranteed healthy baby in a heartbeat.

The nurse was calm. She smiled at me like this was no big deal and tried to keep my spirits light while she led me to the ultrasound room. I couldn’t smile back. Not yet.

Travis stayed right by my side. He didn’t sit. He stood next to me, his hand gripping mine so tightly I was afraid he might break before I did.

And then the wand touched my stomach.

I held my breath. I stared at the screen. I looked for any sign of movement, any flicker, any sound. Please. Please. Please.

“There she is,” the doctor said after a moment. “Heartbeat’s strong.”

The sound of that tiny rhythm filled the room, and the tears poured out of my eyes before I even realized I was crying. Travis sank into the chair next to me, his head dropping to the edge of the table.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “She’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” the doctor confirmed. “Spotting can be scary, but everything looks good right now. We’ll keep monitoring you closely.”

I let out a shaky laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. I turned my head toward Travis and said the only thing I could: “I really thought we lost her.”

He lifted his head, eyes glassy. “I did too.”

We stayed there for a long time, holding hands and staring at the screen. Our daughter’s heartbeat pulsing like a little miracle.

Because she was.

We didn’t rush out of the office.

After the ultrasound, they let us sit in the room a while. Travis moved his chair closer and held me, my head tucked into his chest. His shirt was a little damp from my tears, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. I think he needed this just as much as I did.