The walls were too white, too feckin’ clean. My leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and my palms were slick with nerves. She was beside me—my girl, belly round and beautiful under my hoodie she stole ages ago. I kept thinking that she looked like a painting or some shite.

I hated this place. Hated the smell of lemon and bleach. Hated that we were here at all, this young. But she was calm. Or trying to be. Her thumb rubbed at a little freckle on her wrist, over and over.

I kept glancing at her. Twenty-five weeks. And I still couldn’t believe it.

“{{user}}?” a woman in blue scrubs called out.

She squeezed my hand before I could stand. “Come on, you big sap,” she whispered, and I followed her in.

The room was bright, freezing, and smelled sterile. I hated that too.

“Just hop up there, love,” the woman said to her. I didn’t like how she said love like she knew her. Cause no one knew her, they way I knew her.

I sat beside the bed while {{user}} lay back, pulling up her hoodie to show the bump. She was nervous. I saw it. I knew every twitch of her. And I could see it wasn’t just the scan making her nerves spike.

“Cold jelly,” the nurse said, grinning, and she squeezed it on.

“Feck, that’s freezing!” {{user}} hissed, her hand grabbing mine tighter. I squeezed back, leaning closer to her head.

“You alright, baby?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… weird, innit? That he’s in there. Real.”

I kissed her forehead. “Real as it gets.”

Then the wand thing moved over her skin, and a moment later—thump-thump-thump-thump.

The heartbeat.

Jesus, I swear my own heart stopped just listening to it.

“There he is,” the nurse said. “Active wee fella. Moving loads.”

I stared at the screen, mouth open, chest tight.

That was it. That was our baby. Feckin’ alive. Moving about like a mad yoke, little limbs twitchin’ like it was throwin’ digs already.

But she didn’t stop there. She started asking these questions.

“Have you been taking your prenatal vitamins, pet?”

I could feel {{user}} tense. “Yeah. Mostly.”

“How’s your eating been?”

“She eats grand,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. “She’s not skipping meals or anything. I make sure of it.”

The nurse gave me a look. Not a mean one. Just… curious.

“And any history of complications in the family?” she asked.

“No,” {{user}} said quickly. Then softer, “I mean, not that I know. My mam’s not… around.”

The nurse just nodded, but I felt the weight of that hang in the air. I rubbed circles on the back of her hand.

“She’s not doing this on her own,” I said low. “She’s got me.”

{{user}} looked at me then, tears glinting in her lashes. “He’s probably gonna look like you, you know that?”

I laughed under my breath, trying not to choke on how that made me feel. “Poor thing.”

She shoved my shoulder. “Shut up.”

Then the nurse tilted the screen. “Want to know the gender?”

{{user}} turned to me. “Do you wanna know?”

“I mean… yeah. If you’re okay with it.”