“I’m going to get the radiologist,” she said. She rose, flipped on the light, exited. The door closed softly behind her.

Max squinted. “What was that all about?”

Goose bumps sprouted along Shan’s skin. She pulled down her shirt, not caring that she’d get it sticky with gel. “I don’t know. Why did she leave so suddenly? We didn’t get to hear the baby’s heartbeat.”

“We did hear it, didn’t we?” he asked. “I thought we heard it.”

She closed her eyes. Twelve weeks, the bridge to the second trimester. They had heard and seen the baby’s heartbeat just last month. They were safe. Weren’t they?

The door flung open. A woman wearing gray slacks and a white blouse whooshed inside, parked herself on the stool, slid to the screen. “I’m Dr. Agarwal,” she said. She adjusted her purple-rimmed glasses, smacked a few keys on the keyboard. “Let’s take a look at your baby.”

“Is everything okay?” Shan asked.

This question hung in the air and floated away, as if it’d not been spoken.

The doctor flared her nostrils, squirted the end of the probe with more gel, pressed it into Shan’s belly.

“We’ve not had any issues with the pregnancy,” Max offered.

Issues. The issues were plentiful, though not the kind she’d relay to the doctor.

Shan had always disparaged parenthood, and for over twenty years she actively blocked her reproductive cycle. Her accidental pregnancy at age forty-one was a shock. She scheduled an abortion during the sixth week. But when they arrived at the clinic, a familiar sort of sorrow had washed over her, like when her father had died. Ending the pregnancy felt like another end to him—the end of his line, of the possibility of his essense embodying another human being. She couldn’t shake the feeling that took hold of her. She canceled the appointment and left the clinic.

Two weeks later, at the eight-week mark, she saw their adorable tadpole at the first ultrasound. Her fears about parenthood, her ambivalence toward the pregnancy, vanished. The baby was the future she now wanted more than anything.

The radiologist’s lips drew a straight line. “I’m afraid I have bad news.” She touched Shan’s hand. “There’s no heartbeat.”

It couldn’t be true. The charts and graphs in pregnancy books, the lofty what-to-expect expectations, the weekly emails she received about her baby’s growth and development indicated that her pregnancy was progressing perfectly. She’d experienced all the symptoms—weight gain, tender, sore breasts, bleeding gums. New life inhabited every cell of her body.

“Check again,” she said. “We heard it just last month.”

The doctor replaced the probe, tapped the screen with the nib of her pen, traced the heart’s outline. “I’m sorry, it’s no longer beating. Given the measurements, the fetus stopped growing about a week ago.”

Fetus.