Protecting Baby from Sterlings

Synopsis

The soft hum of the ultrasound machine still echoed in my ears as I clutched the black and white images to my chest. My baby—sixteen weeks and perfectly formed, tiny fingers and toes visible on the grainy printout. Dr. Wilson had smiled as she pointed out the strong heartbeat, the proper development of the spine, the perfect curve of the skull. Everything was progressing exactly as it should. "You've got a fighter in there, Dr. Matthews," she'd said, her voice warm with genuine happiness for me. I couldn't stop smiling as I made my way up the steps of our Beacon Hill townhouse, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone street. The crisp October air filled my lungs, and I instinctively placed my free hand over the small, firm swell beneath my sweater. My sanctuary awaited—the nursery I'd been meticulously preparing for months, walls painted a soft yellow that would catch the morning light, the antique rocking chair positioned perfectly by the window.