The exam room smelled like antiseptic and quiet shame.

I sat there, stiff and silent, while a nurse in navy scrubs folded my jacket neatly onto the lone chair in the corner.

“Alright, Elena,” she said gently, smiling like she thought it might help. “Lie back for me.”

The table’s paper crinkled under my weight. I stared up at the ceiling tiles, focusing on the tiny cracks and water stains, anything but the way my pulse thundered against my ribs.

Cold gel hit my skin, startling enough that I jerked slightly.

“Sorry,” the nurse murmured, moving the wand across my stomach with a light, steady hand. “Won’t take long. Let’s see how far along you are.”

I nodded mutely. Words felt dangerous.

The rhythmic whir of the machines filled the room, punctuated by the occasional tap of keys as she adjusted settings. The screen flickered to life beside me — all grayscale fuzz and hidden meanings.

“You’re about nine weeks,” she said, her voice soft and easy. “Everything looks good so far.”

Nine weeks. I tried to do the math but the numbers slid through my brain like water over glass. All I could think about was breathing. In, out. In, out.

“Now, let’s take a closer look,” the nurse said, moving the wand slightly, frowning at the monitor in concentration. Then, a pause.

A laugh, low and almost incredulous.

“Well,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I hope you’re ready.”

My heart skidded to a stop. I turned my head to look at her. “Why?” I croaked.

She smiled, not wide, but kind, and turned the monitor toward me, angling it so I could see.

“Because you’ve got two,” she said warmly.

I blinked at her, brain refusing to process.

“I’m sorry — what?”

She pointed to the flickering images on the screen — two separate little shadows, small but unmistakably distinct. “Two babies. Twins. Looks like they’re in separate sacs. Strong heartbeats, both of them.”

Twins.
Two.
Not one.

The words didn’t fit in my head. They just rattled around, sharp and loose.

My throat tightened painfully. I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to breathe through the pressure.

“No…” I whispered. “That can’t be—”

But it was.

The screen didn’t lie. The steady beat of two tiny hearts didn’t lie.

Two heartbeats. Two lives. One night. One man. Nicholas.

The nurse printed out a handful of grainy black-and-white photos, slipping them into an envelope like they were any other routine memory. She pressed it into my hand, smiling as if this was good news — as if my world hadn’t just been flipped inside out.

I sat there long after she left, staring at the sealed envelope like it might explode if I moved.

When I finally stepped into the hallway, the air felt too thick, the lights too bright. My fingers clutched the envelope so tightly the edges bent.

Nicholas was already on his feet the moment he saw me.

“Elena,” he said, stepping closer immediately. His voice was low, concerned, steadier than mine would ever be again. “You’re okay?”

“Just dizzy,” I lied smoothly. Too smoothly. “It passed.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. Maybe because he saw how rigid my posture was. Maybe because he knew whatever storm was behind my eyes needed to be faced on my terms.

“Let’s get you home,” he said simply, and he held the door open like nothing had changed.

Like he hadn’t just unknowingly stepped into the biggest truth of my life.

I climbed into the car without a word. The envelope with the hospital printouts was shoved deep into the folds of my coat, pressed against my heart like a secret trying to claw its way free.

He drove in silence, one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping a restless rhythm against his thigh. I stared out the window, counting the cracks in the pavement, the blinking streetlights, anything but the minutes ticking down to the conversation I knew was coming, sooner or later.

Because now it wasn’t just one secret anymore.

It was two.

Two heartbeats. Two lives.

And a truth I wasn’t ready to give voice to.

***

When we pulled up to my apartment, he parked and turned off the engine but didn’t move to open his door.

He sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, studying the dashboard like it might offer him answers.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked finally, voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t. Even though everything inside me felt like it was breaking apart at the seams.

“Just tired,” I said, managing a small smile that felt like it cracked my face open.

He hesitated for a second longer, then nodded too.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

I grabbed the handle and stepped out into the cold, wrapping my arms tight around myself as if that might hold the pieces in.

As if that might stop the truth from bleeding through.