“A few days can vary in an ultrasound. Not an entire month,” Dr. Sutton said, her voice echoing with finality. “Furthermore, a vasectomy does not render a man instantly sterile. Standard protocol requires follow-up testing to confirm zero sperm count. Did you complete your post-operative semen analysis?”
David said nothing. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
There it was. The microscopic, devastating truth.
“You didn’t get tested?” Peyton hissed, rounding on him, her mask of sweet superiority completely shattering.
His jaw tightened. “You told me it wasn’t necessary. You said you read online that after three weeks it was fine!”
“I am a doctor, not an internet forum,” Dr. Sutton interjected sharply. She turned the wand back to my stomach.
I was still lying there, slick with gel, my heart hammering against my ribs. “So,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “the baby is his.”
“Based on the timeline, yes. Undeniably,” Dr. Sutton said gently. Then, she paused. The wand hovered over my lower abdomen. Her eyes widened slightly behind her glasses. “Wait.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Is something wrong?”
She enlarged the image. The grainy black-and-white static shifted.
“There is a second gestational sac,” Dr. Sutton said softly.
I froze. The world outside this room simply ceased to exist. “A second?”
She adjusted the frequency. Suddenly, a tiny, rapid sound filled the room. Swoosh-swoosh-swoosh. And then, slightly offbeat, a second sound joined it. Swoosh-swoosh-swoosh.
