(Amelia POV)
The morning of my fourth day at Westbrook, Linda came to my room.
She did not knock. She never knocked. The door opened, and she stood there in her white uniform, her cold eyes scanning the room like she expected to find something I was hiding.
"Miss Campbell. Time for your ultrasound."
My heart lurched. "Ultrasound?"
"Routine procedure. We perform them on all female patients of childbearing age." Her voice was flat, bored. She had said these words a hundred times before.
I had suspected I was pregnant. The nausea in the mornings. The tenderness in my breasts. The way certain smells made my stomach turn. I was a doctor. I knew the signs. But suspicion was not confirmation. I needed to know for sure.
"Get up," Linda said. "Follow me."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under my bare feet. I had no shoes. They had taken my shoes during intake.
"Do I need to change?" I asked.
"No. Just come."
I followed her into the hallway.
---
The hallway was long and white. Doors on both sides. Small windows on each door. Behind them, I saw shapes. Women. Some pacing. Some sitting. Some standing still as statues.
One woman pressed her face against the glass. Her eyes were wild, desperate. "Are you having a baby?" she whispered.
I did not answer.
Linda led me to a small room at the end of the hall. A table. A chair. A machine with a dark screen. A technician I had never seen before waited inside. She did not introduce herself. She simply pointed to the table.
"Lie down."
I lay down. The paper crinkled beneath me. The ceiling was white and bare, just like every other ceiling in this place.
Linda stood by the door, clipboard in hand. She was watching me. Not the screen. Me.
The technician applied gel to my stomach. It was cold. I flinched.
"Sorry," the technician muttered. She did not sound sorry.
She pressed the wand against my skin. The screen flickered. Static. Then shapes. Gray and black and white, shifting as she moved the wand.
"There," the technician said.
I looked.
A small shape. A tiny curve. And in the center, a flicker of light. Fast. Steady. Pulsing like a tiny drum.
"There's the heartbeat," the technician said. "Approximately eight weeks. Everything looks normal."
My eyes filled with tears.
I reached out as if to touch the image. My fingers stopped just before the glass. The flicker continued. Unaware of where it was. Unaware of the gray walls and the barred windows surrounding me.
My baby, I thought. My baby is alive.
I had not allowed myself to hope. Hope was dangerous in a place like this. But now I could not stop it. Hope flooded through me, warm and fierce and terrifying.
Linda wrote something on her clipboard. Her face was unreadable.
"How far along did you say?" I asked the technician.
"Eight weeks. Everything looks normal."
"Can I have a copy of the image?"
The technician glanced at Linda. Linda shook her head.
"No," Linda said. "Facility property."
I wanted to argue. But I did not. I would remember this moment. I would hold it in my chest like a secret.
"You can go back to your room now," Linda said.
I wiped the gel from my stomach with a rough paper towel. I pulled my gray shirt down. I walked back down the hallway, my hand resting on my belly.
The woman with the wild eyes was still watching.
"A baby," she said. "That's a miracle here."
I nodded. I could not speak.
---
My room was still there. Still cold. Still empty. But something was different now.
I was not alone anymore.
I sat on the bed and pressed both hands to my stomach. The baby was the size of a raspberry, the technician had said. Tiny. Fragile. But alive.
I will protect you, I thought. No matter what it costs.
I thought about David. About the way he had looked at me on the rooftop. About the way he had said I love you like it was a secret. He did not know about this baby. He had sent me away before I could tell him.
Would he even care if he knew?
I pushed the thought away. It did not matter. David had made his choice. He had stood at the altar and called me crazy. He had watched them drag me away. He had not visited. He had not called.
This baby was mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love. David had lost that right.
---
I pulled the small notebook from under my mattress. I had found it in the drawer by the bed. Blank pages. I did not know who had left it there. I did not care.
I opened it to the first page. The pen trembled in my hand.
"My name is Amelia Campbell. I am a doctor. I am not mentally ill. I do not belong here. Someone has framed me for a crime I did not commit."
I paused. The words stared back at me.
"Today I saw my baby's heartbeat. I am going to name her Joanna. That was my mother's middle name. I wish David was here. I wish he could know that he is going to be a father. I wonder if he would be happy. I wonder if he would hold my hand and promise to protect us. But he is not here. He sent me away. And I do not know if he will ever come."
I closed the notebook. I hid it under the mattress.
Then I lay down and closed my eyes.
I thought of Duncan. The night nurse. The way he had looked at me. The way he had said, "I'll watch over you."
Why does he care? I wondered. What does he want?
I did not have an answer. But for the first time since the wedding, I felt something other than despair.
I felt a flicker of hope.
---
End of Chapter 5