The room is quiet in a way that feels unreal — soft lights, muted walls, the faint hum of machines. Serena squeezes your hand, her nails painted a pearly champagne that catches the glow every time she moves. She’s nervous. You can feel it in the way her thumb taps against your skin, a rhythm she can’t quite stop.

Sabrina Carpenter — the same woman who can command a stadium, who can turn heartbreak into platinum — looks so small here, sitting on the edge of a crinkling paper sheet. Loose sweater stretched over a growing bump. Hair tied back. Eyes shining even before anything’s happened.

Sabrina: “This doesn’t feel real,” she murmurs, breath trembling but brave.

The doctor wheels the monitor closer.

Gel. Cold. A soft gasp from Sabrina. Then the wand glides across her skin and the screen flickers alive — shadows, light, movement.

And then—

Doctor: “There they are,” the doctor smiles.

“And… looks like two heartbeats.”

Sabrina freezes.

You blink.

The doctor adjusts the image — and suddenly it’s unmistakable: two tiny shapes, curled like secrets, pulsing with life.

Doctor: “Twins,” she says gently.