Chapter 9: Possessive Affection
The gel was cold, a sudden shock against the warm, taut curve of her belly. Mia flinched, then laughed at herself, the sound echoing softly in the small, bright room. John’s hand found hers, his fingers—long, pianist’s fingers—threading through her own. His other hand rested just above the waistband of the papery gown, his thumb tracing idle, possessive circles on her skin.
“Just a little pressure,” the ultrasound tech, a woman named Sarah with kind eyes, said as she moved the transducer. The black-and-white screen bloomed with static, then coalesced into shapes.
“There’s the head,” Sarah murmured. “Perfect profile.”
Mia’s breath hitched. A profile. A nose. A tiny, perfect spine like a string of pearls. Their child. The surreal wonder of it hadn’t faded in six months; it had only deepened, compounded by the sheer physical reality of her changing body, the kicks that felt like bubbles popping under her ribs.
John leaned in, his temple brushing hers. “Look at that,” he whispered, his voice thick. “He’s got your nose.”
“Or she has your stubborn chin,” Mia whispered back, emotion swelling in her throat. She felt enormous, round as a planet, her center of gravity a foreign and clumsy thing. The emotional swings were exhausting, even to her—one moment she was weeping at a commercial for laundry detergent, the next she was snapping at John for breathing too loudly. But through it all, he was wonderful. Annoyingly, devastatingly wonderful.
Sarah grinned, glancing at John’s hand, which had migrated to cradle the entire lower arc of Mia’s belly, his touch reverent and steady. “You’re making the other dads in the waiting room look bad, Mr. Baker.”
Mia arched her back slightly against the table, a sinful smirk playing on her lips as she looked up at her husband. His gaze was fixed on the screen, utterly captivated. “Oh, he’s much worse at home,” Mia said, her tone light, teasing. “Can’t keep his hands to himself. It’s a real problem.”
John didn’t deny it. He just pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering. He loved her more than everyone else, his beautiful, six-months-pregnant wife. It was a fact as present in the room as the steady, rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh that suddenly filled the air.
“And there’s the heartbeat,” Sarah said, turning up the volume.
The sound was a locomotive, a fierce, tiny drum. It slammed into Mia’s chest, stealing her breath. She saw John’s eyes well up, a single tear escaping before he quickly wiped it away with his shoulder. He squeezed her hand so tightly it almost hurt.
Later, in the waiting room, the spell was broken by the overly bright nature documentary playing on the wall-mounted TV—a lioness stalking prey, the narration too loud. Mia settled heavily into a chair, the printed ultrasound photos clutched in her hand. John hovered, arranging her coat behind her, fetching her water bottle from her bag.
A young woman across the room was staring at John. Not subtly. Mia saw it, a flash of appraisal in the woman’s eyes as they traveled over John’s lean frame, the way his sweater stretched across his shoulders, the concentrated intensity that still clung to him from the exam room. A familiar, hot curl of jealousy tightened in Mia’s stomach. It was ridiculous. He was hers, completely, obsessively hers. But he was also a bit too sexy for his own good, and the hormonal storm inside her turned simple admiration into a personal affront.
John, oblivious, knelt in front of her, his hands on her knees. “You okay? Need anything?”
“Just you not being so damn attractive in public,” she grumbled, but she was smiling, reaching to fix a piece of his messy hair.
He laughed, a low, warm sound. “You’re insane. And you’re everything.”
Her phone buzzed incessantly in her bag. The family group chat. She showed John the screen, a cascade of messages.
Dad: Well?? Everything in the right place? Ten fingers, ten toes?
Brother Mark (27, Ortho Surg): Did they measure the femur length? Percentile?
Brother Alex (25, ER Resident): Ask about the cerebellum vermis. Not that you’d know what to look for.
Mom: Leave her alone, you two. Mia, honey, just tell us everyone’s healthy. We love you.
This. This was new. Her family felt real for the first time—not just a unit she’d come from, but a net beneath her, knit tight by anticipation. Everyone was totally excited for the new life. Her brothers, with their clinical, doctorly interrogations (both of them following their father’s path), were asking too many pregnancy questions, but their enthusiasm was blunt and genuine. And her mom… for the first time, her mom felt like a mom to her. Not just a caretaker, but a fellow traveler, her texts laced with a knowing empathy that had never been there before. She’d sent a box of unsolicited, incredibly comfortable maternity leggings last week with a note: “You’ll thank me later.”
“Tell them,” John said, nodding toward the phone.
Mia typed, her fingers clumsy. “All perfect. Heartbeat strong. Profile is all Baker stubbornness.” She attached the clearest ultrasound photo.
Her phone exploded. Heart emojis. Celebration GIFs. Dad: “Atta girl.” Mom: “Call me when you’re home. I want to hear the heartbeat in your voice.”
John helped her to her feet, his arm a solid brace around her as she navigated the unsteadiness. He gathered their things, his attention wholly on her, a buffer against the world. The woman who’d been staring looked away, finally.
Outside, the afternoon light was sharp. John opened the car door for her, his hand shielding the frame. Before she ducked in, he stopped her, turning her gently to face him. He didn’t speak. He just placed both his palms on the vast, incredible swell of their child, his eyes meeting hers. In them, she saw the boy from the penthouse bathroom, the one who’d stood frozen in the doorway facing a different kind of terror. She saw the man who had chosen her, and this, every single day since.
The emotion was too big. It felt like the baby was somersaulting.
“Home?” he asked, his voice rough.
She nodded, unable to speak. He loved her more than everyone else. And for the first time, she felt utterly, unshakably, the same.