Page 182 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
We arrive at the clinic. It’s a private facility on the outskirts of Austin, catering to high-profile clients who value discretion above all else. No names on the waiting list. Private entrances. But the lot isn’t secure. The walk from the car to the door is still public enough for a long lens.
We’re ushered into a back room immediately.
Dr. Aris is a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. She surveys the four of us crowding into the small examination room—Ethan pacing, Owen sitting on the counter, me standing by the monitor, Tessa on the exam table—and she doesn’t even blink.
“Crowded house,” she notes, pulling on her gloves. “Who is the father?”
A heavy stillness drops over the room.
This is the question. The variable we haven’t solved because we haven’t wanted to. Ethan stops pacing. Owen stops swinging his legs. I look at Tessa.
“We don’t know,” Tessa says, her voice remarkably steady.
Dr. Aris nods, typing something into her tablet. “We can do a non-invasive prenatal paternity test today. It requires a blood draw from the mother and cheek swabs from the potential fathers. We can have results in about a week.”
She waits for the go-ahead.
Logic dictates we should know. Genetic history is a crucial data point for medical treatment. Knowing the biological father simplifies legal paperwork, inheritance, and medical predictive modeling. It’s the efficient choice.
“No,” Ethan says.
“No?” Dr. Aris looks up.
“We don’t want the test,” Owen adds, hopping off the counter to stand next to Tessa, taking her left hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. I stand on her right side, taking her other hand. “DNA is irrelevant. The child is ours.”
Tessa is crying happy tears, her hazel eyes welling over. She squeezes my hand hard.
“No test,” she confirms to the doctor. “They’re all the father.”
Dr. Aris smiles, a genuine expression softening her face. “Alright then. Let’s see how the baby is doing. Since it’s early, we’ll need to do a transvaginal ultrasound to get a clear picture.”
She hands Tessa a paper sheet. “Everything from the waist down, please. Gentlemen, if you could give her a moment?”
Ethan, Owen, and I turn around instantly, forming a wall of privacy while she changes. When Tessa is settled and covered, Dr. Aris gives the word, and we turn back, keeping our eyes fixed on Tessa’s face until she nods her comfort.
Dr. Aris inserts the wand. Tessa shifts uncomfortably, but then the screen flickers. Static. Gray noise.
“There we go,” Dr. Aris says, adjusting the contrast.
A sound fills the room. Swish-swish. Swish-swish.
It’s chaotic and overwhelmingly loud. It sounds like a server room at full capacity. It sounds like life.
“The heartbeat is strong,” Dr. Aris says. “150 beats per minute. Perfect.”
Ethan lets out a loud, ragged breath. “It’s okay? Is it healthy?”
“Very healthy,” Dr. Aris says, adjusting the angle of the probe.
I frown.
As I watch the monitor, I analyze the visual data. The sac is present. The fetal pole is clear. But there’s a shadow. There’s a duplication in the frequency.
“Wait,” I say, stepping closer to the screen. “Review that sector again. Quadrant two.”
Dr. Aris pauses. She looks at me, then back at the screen, shifting the probe slightly to the left.
