I stop, blink, and stare at her as I sniffle. “What do you mean two babies?”

“Twins.” She furrows her brow as if she’s wondering if she needs to call in a psych eval. “You’re having twins.”

My eyes snap to the screen, and for the first time, I realize it’s not just static I’m hearing in the background of my thoughts. It’s actual heartbeats.

“Oh, my god,” I whisper.

“Oh, my god, yay?” she asks hesitantly.

I take a moment to absorb the news, and my head feels like it’s in a cloud, but at the same time, warmth expands from my chest, slowing my breathing and bringing me back to earth.

“Can you show me?” I lean up on the pillow to get a better look.

She smiles way too big and then nods enthusiastically, moving the wand around to show me. After a moment, when I blink away the tears, I can see the outline of two heads and two vague body-like shapes.

My heart stops. And then it starts again. And I’m crying in earnest now, but for a whole different reason.

“Twins,” I murmur in disbelief. “I’m having twins.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the tech chirps happily. “And it looks like you’re just shy of four months along.”

Holy crap.

Four months. Has it already been that long?

I look down at my belly, and from this position, the protrusion is way more obvious than it’s been hidden under my oversized dresses. If anyone were to see me in a pair of pants and a regular shirt, there would be no possibility of hiding it. But honestly, I don’t want to. Not anymore.

I understand that as my hand hovers over what will be my babies’ home for the next five months. God, that’s way too soon. Yet it’s not soon enough.

My emotions are high when the doctor comes in and gives me the confirmation that I have two healthy babies growing inside me. She hands me a list of guidelines for pregnancy, and the tech gives me a towel to clean up. Then with the photo evidence in hand, I’m sent back out into the world with the undeniable truth hanging above my head.

I’m carrying not one but two of Lawson Montgomery’s stubborn little monsters inside me.

4

Judge

I pull onto the drive of Ezra’s home office and park. The main house is dark. His wife and three girls are asleep, safe and sound in their beds. It’s past midnight. Climbing out of my car, I head to the building set farther back from the drive. It’s made to look like a smaller version of the house itself.

“Judge,” he says when I enter without knocking. He’s expecting me. He stands and gestures to the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”