An Ideal Guardian for My Covert Duology

POV Elena

The waiting room hasn't changed in five years.

Same beige walls that I've memorized every crack in, same worn magazines with their promises of 'miracle babies' and 'fertility breakthroughs' that I stopped believing in years ago.

Same antiseptic smell that makes my stomach turn—or maybe that's just the familiar cocktail of hope and dread that hits me every time I walk through these doors.

I know every nurse by name, every pattern in the carpet, every squeak of the reception chair.

​​This place has become my second home, my purgatory, my temple where I come to worship at the altar of possibility and leave offerings of blood samples and tears.

I clutch my purse tighter, feeling the leather grow damp under my trembling fingers.

"Mrs. Blackwood?" The nurse's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Dr. Harrison will see you now."

I stand on legs that feel like water. "Thank you," I manage, though my voice comes out as a whisper.

She leads me down the familiar hallway, past doors I've walked through too many times.

"How are you feeling today?" she asks, her tone professionally kind.

"Nervous," I admit. "Same as always."

"Well, let's see what we find." She gestures to the examination room. "Dr. Harrison will be right in."

I perch on the edge of the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me. Five years. Five years of this routine, of hope crushed into disappointment.

My own husband no longer sleeps in our bedroom, no longer touches me. He even tries not to look at me or talk to me unnecessarily. I even think the office has become closer to home to him than ours.

I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room—when did those lines appear around my eyes? When did my smile become something I had to force?

The door opens, and Dr. Harrison enters with a smile that's different from his usual cautious optimism. "Elena," he says, and something in his voice makes my heart skip. "I have your blood work results."

"And?" The word barely escapes my lips.

"Congratulations." His smile widens. "You're pregnant."

The room tilts. "What?"

"Your HCG levels are excellent. You're about four weeks along." He moves toward the ultrasound machine. "Would you like to see?"

"Yes," I breathe, lying back as he prepares the equipment. "Please."

The gel is cold on my stomach, but I barely notice. My eyes are locked on the screen as he moves the wand.

"There," he says softly. "Do you see?"

Two tiny flutters appear on the monitor, rhythmic and perfect. "Is that… Are those…"

"Two heartbeats," Dr. Harrison confirms. "Congratulations, Elena. You're having twins."

The sob escapes before I can stop it. My hands fly to my still-flat stomach as tears stream down my face. "Twins…" I whisper. "Oh my God, twins."

"Everything looks perfect," he assures me, handing me tissues. "Both embryos are developing beautifully. I'll want to see you every two weeks given your history, but Elena—this is really happening."

"Can I have a picture?" I ask through my tears. "Of the ultrasound?"

"Of course." He prints one and hands it to me. "Go home and tell your husband. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"He will be," I say, staring at the two tiny spots on the image. "This changes everything."

I practically run to my car, nearly dropping my keys in excitement. "Twins," I whisper to myself again, as if saying it makes it more real. "We're having twins."

My mind races with plans as I start the engine. Adrian… I have to tell Adrian.

This will fix us. This will bring back the man who used to laugh at my jokes, who used to pull me close in the kitchen while dinner burned on the stove.

The man who wanted children as desperately as I did, before the failures turned him cold and distant.

"He'll be so happy," I tell myself, adjusting the rearview mirror. "He has to be. Two babies, Adrian. Two perfect little miracles."

The drive to his office is a blur of red lights I barely stop for and honked horns I don't hear. All I can think about is his face when I show him the ultrasound.

Will he cry? Will he sweep me into his arms the way he used to?

"The babies will bring us back together," I tell myself, gripping the steering wheel. "No more silent dinners. No more sleeping in separate beds. No more wondering where he is at night."

I remember our last real conversation, three months ago. We were sitting at opposite ends of our massive dining table, the space between us feeling like an ocean.

"I decided that we should stop trying," he'd said, not looking at me, his voice empty.

"YOU decided?" I couldn't believe what I heard. "We can't give up, Adrian. We have to keep trying."

I'd begged, reaching across the table for his hand, but he'd pulled away. Facial expressions of pure disgust, like even a slight touch of mine were unbearable for him.

"You're an unimaginably stubborn woman, Elena” he snapped, standing abruptly. "I suggested surrogacy as an alternative, but you'd rather squeeze all the juices out of us than admit your worthlessness.”

He'd walked away without waiting for an answer, and we hadn't spoken about it since. But that was before. Before the miracle growing inside me.

But now—now everything would be different.