That night, she sent Robert her resignation, effective immediately. She asked why they couldn’t have warned her months earlier, said that the firm had humiliated her by leading her on for so long. His only response was to apologize, again, for how things turned out. But he didn’t fight for her, didn’t beg her to reconsider, which hurt almost as much. None of the partners did. Too bad no one at work knew she was pregnant. If they did, she could have at least slapped the firm with a sex discrimination suit.

She inhaled deeply. Her spine grew longer. The paper covering the exam table crinkled as she released her breath. No matter. Her life had morphed into something else, something infinitely better. With this pregnancy, she felt whole again in a way she hadn’t since losing her father, Vijay, three decades earlier, not long after her first and only trip to India with him.

“There!” Shan said, pointing at the screen. “There it is! Look, Max. Look at how much the baby’s grown.”

One, two, white, translucent threads. Legs. Tiny, delicate feet. She imagined them in the palm of her hand, those sweet, velvety soles. Two lithe, elegant arms bent at right angles. The subtle bump of a nose, the most delicate chin, like Max’s. A tall forehead. Hers? Lips that would soon emit sweet breaths along her neck, part wide to take in her milk.

What would their child have from each of them? His blue eyes? Her dark skin? Her brown eyes? His olive skin? Would their genes alternate in their expression or blend? She hoped their child would have something she didn’t have—a perfect amalgamation of DNA expression, an equal rendering of both parents.

Shan’s hazel-eyed, red-haired mother had not bequeathed any noticeable traits to Shan. Her childhood had been defined by others’ blunt judgments about their relationship. You’re so dark. Is that really your mother? She hoped their baby looked like both her and Max, that their child wouldn’t constantly have to clarify their relationship to their own parents, lecture others on genetics or on minding their own business. She did not want to be mistaken for the nanny.

Max leaned closer to the screen. His eyes lit up. “The baby is so beautiful,” he said, squeezing her hand. Her husband’s smile was full, the kind he freely offered her in the early days of their marriage, when everything about the prospect of being partnered for life was shiny and new. It had been so long since she felt this tenderness from him. The prospect of parenthood seemed to inch him toward a newer, healthier place. He has changed, she thought. He has been working on himself, fulfilling his pledge to be a better husband, a better person.

The tech removed the probe and wiped the end with a towel.