Chapter 2 - The Ultrasound
Saturday morning at the clinic felt disconnected from the reality of the Russo estate. The waiting room smelled of industrial bleach and stale coffee instead of lemon polish and ozone. Norah sat in a hard plastic chair, watching the muted morning news on a small television mounted in the corner. She had taken two buses and a taxi, paying entirely in cash. Her phone remained at the compound. Dominic tracked the staff’s phones. He called it security protocol. Norah called it a leash. “Norah Hayes.” A nurse in faded blue scrubs stood in the doorway. Norah followed her down a linoleum corridor beneath fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. She stepped onto the scale without her coat. The number on the digital display tightened something inside her chest. She was gaining exactly the amount she was supposed to gain. Healthy. Normal. Terrifying.
Fifteen minutes later, Norah lay on an examination table while cold gel covered her swollen abdomen. Dr. Aris, a tired woman with graying hair who did not ask why Norah paid in cash, moved the ultrasound wand over her skin. “There.” She turned the monitor. Norah stopped breathing. It was no longer merely a blur of static. There was a spine. A tiny, perfectly formed profile. A hand curled into a fist beside its face. The rhythmic rush of the heartbeat filled the room. “Heart rate is strong. 150 beats per minute,” Dr. Aris said. “Growth is right on track for twenty-one weeks. Do you want to know the sex?” “No.” The answer broke from Norah before she could control it. Tears burned her eyes. Knowing the sex would make the child too real. It would give the baby an identity. For now, it remained a secret. If it became a boy or a girl, it became a person Dominic Russo could take from her.
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Dr. Aris did not press. She printed a small strip of glossy paper and handed it to Norah. “A souvenir.” Norah should not have taken it. It was evidence. A loose thread. But her fingers closed around the ultrasound anyway. Her thumb passed across the tiny sleeping profile. She slipped it into the inside pocket of her wool coat. Only for the day, she told herself. She would burn it that night. By the time she returned to the compound, the sky had turned deep purple. The guards at the front gate searched her grocery bags. Norah had bought mundane things to support her explanation for leaving: tampons, cheap magazines, a particular brand of tea. She entered the house, removed her boots, and started toward her ground-floor bedroom. “You were gone a long time.” Norah stopped. Dominic emerged from the shadows of the formal living room with a glass of amber liquor in his hand. “I had errands. The buses run slowly on weekends.” “My head of security said you left your phone in your room.” “I forgot it.” Dominic approached. “You’ve been erratic. You’re exhausted. You’re dressing in layers when it’s seventy degrees outside. You’re leaving the property off the grid.” “I told you—” “I had my men pull the street cameras near the bus stop where you got off.”
The blood drained from Norah’s face. “You went to a clinic on Fourth Street. A cash-only place. Not the kind of place a woman goes for a common cold. And you certainly wouldn’t need to hide a cold from me.” Norah’s mind raced. She needed a lie. “I have a mass.” Dominic’s jaw tightened. “A mass?” “A tumor. In my abdomen. It’s benign, they think. But it’s growing. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to lose my job.” She forced herself not to blink. Dominic stared at her, searching her eyes for any flicker of deceit. His expression was carved from granite. For five terrifying seconds, she thought he saw right through it. Then his shoulders shifted infinitesimally. The hard line of his mouth softened into a grim line of calculation. “Why didn't you tell me?” “Because people with medical issues get replaced, Mr. Russo. I need this job. I love Lily.” Dominic looked down at his glass, swirling the dark liquid against the crystal. “Get a second opinion. Use my doctor. I’ll have appointments arranged on Monday.” “No,” Norah said quickly, perhaps too quickly. She reined in her tone. “I mean... no, thank you. I prefer my own physician. It’s private.” Dominic looked back up, his slate eyes narrowing again. “Private?” “Medical privacy is still a thing, even here.” He didn't answer for a long moment. Then he walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers, leaving a wake of cold air. “We’ll talk about this later, Norah. Go to your room.”
