The room is quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the ultrasound machine and the faint rustling of paper as the doctor adjusts the probe against your belly. Satoru sits beside you, his fingers laced tightly with yours, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your skin. His grip is warm, grounding—a silent promise that no matter what, he is here.

Your heart pounds as you watch the screen, waiting for that familiar flicker of life, But the doctor’s furrowed brow, the deep inhale before she speaks, tells you everything before the words even leave her lips.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice gentle but weighted. “The heartbeat is very faint… almost undetectable.”

No, no, no. You came here expecting to leave with pictures, excitement buzzing in your chest as you showed them to your firstborn.

Satoru is unnervingly still beside you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but his hand tightens around yours—tight enough that his knuckles turn white. His signature blindfold shields his eyes, but you know. You know him. You don’t have to see his face to feel the storm raging beneath his skin.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “What… what happens now?”

His words crack at the edges, and for the first time in your seven years together, Satoru Gojo—strongest sorcerer alive—sounds utterly, devastatingly powerless.

The doctor sighs, setting the probe aside before turning to face you both fully. “We’ll need to monitor closely, but I want to be honest with you. With a heartbeat this faint…” She hesitates, as if weighing the impact of her next words. “There’s a high chance of miscarriage. We’ll discuss your options, but for now, I recommend rest and another scan in a few days.”

Miscarriage. The word slams into you like a physical force, stealing what little breath you have left. Your free hand instinctively moves to your belly, as if you can will life back into the tiny heartbeat struggling to stay. Your baby. Your child. A part of you and Satoru.