She signs in at radiology at St. Francis Hospital where Cat plans to deliver the baby and we wait for her to be called back. I text William, telling him he was wrong about the ring. I look up and see Cat vibrating, her leg going a mile a minute, a trait she's inherited from her mom I noticed when I stayed with them during Winter Break.

"Hey," I say, resting my hand on her knee. "You okay? What are you so nervous about?"

"I just don't want them to find anything wrong, you know?"

"You've already done the 3 marker blood test in the first trimester and nadda, right?"

"Right," she agrees, but is worrying the heck out of her bottom lip.

I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. "Everything is going to be fine. Okay?"

"Okay," Cat takes a deep breath in and out like we've practiced in prenatal yoga together.

"Feel better?"

"A little."

I can still see the tension in her face and body. I let go of her hand and stand up to move behind her to give her a gentle massage of her shoulders. I feel her slowly relax.

She tilts her head back to look up at me, smiling. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I come around to join her again. I no sooner do I sit down than they call us back.

They verify all of Cat's personal information and take her blood for the 4 marker test. Once that's over with, they take us back to radiology for the ultrasound.

"Have a seat, Cat," the technician tells her, and Cat gets into position. She's a pro at this by now. Cat lays down, lifts her dress to show her belly, and the tech tucks a small towel in the front of her panties. She places a blanket over Cat's legs so she isn't cold and doesn't get any of the gel on her. I take a seat nearby and can't wait to see Peanut show up on the ultrasound screen.

"Now, did they tell you we are doing a fetal nuchal translucency test today?"

Cat just nods yes.

"What that means is that we are going to check for an increase of fluid at the base of the baby's neck at a spot called the nuchal fold, and we will take our usual measurements as well. You're at week 14, correct?"

"Yes," Cat says, and I can see the tension coming back again. I haven't seen her this nervous since that very first ultrasound she had when she passed out after arguing with Liam.

"Okay, here we go." The technician spreads the gel on her stomach and the ultrasound begins. It always amazes me how fast these women work. Half the time I'm not even certain which end is up until it's pointed out to me, but she takes all sorts of measurements, of what I'm not entirely sure.

As things progress, I ask, "Will we get pictures again?" This ultrasound seems to take a lot longer than the others.

"Excuse me?" The technician asks, obviously intent on something else that she didn't hear my question.

"Pictures?" I say again.

"Oh, yes. I'll have the printouts ready for you before you leave. I'm just going to step out a moment and I'll be right back."

Cat has a look of panic in her eyes as the technician leaves the room.

"They've never done that before. Why is she leaving? You don't think?"

I move my chair closer to Cat. "Let's not jump to any conclusions, okay? This isn't a normal test, remember, so it would make sense that it would take longer. Things aren't necessarily going to go the same way."

"Yeah, but she was spending an awfully long time in one spot. I thought she was trying to burrow into my spleen. Alex, I'm scared something is wrong."

"Shh," I soothe, stroking her hair. "One step at a time, Cat. Let's see what she has to say."

The tech returns a few minutes later. "Okay Cat, you're all done. Here are your pictures," she adds, handing them to me. "Once you're all cleaned up, the doctor would like to see you before you leave in his office."

Cat, who was smiling in relief a second ago, suddenly frowns with worry. "Is something wrong? Is the fluid level increased?"

"He'll talk to you about everything. I'm not really allowed to say," she adds apologetically.

"Oh, alright," Cat quickly wipes the gel off her stomach with the towel and I was grateful she didn't really have much to fuss with otherwise.

"Just have a seat in the waiting room and they'll call you back to see him."

"The waiting room?" I can see Cat's anxiety rising.

"It's alright, Cat. He's probably with another mom. We'll check out the pictures of Peanut and by the time we're done you'll most likely be called back to be seen."

Cat nods and takes my proffered hand as I lead her back to the waiting room. She's smiling as we look over the pictures. Peanut is about the size of a lemon now and I half wonder if we should change the nickname, but when I suggest it, Cat vehemently disagrees.

"Don't you dare! It's been Peanut since the very beginning. I couldn't imagine calling the baby anything else now."

"You're not going to call the baby Peanut after the baby is born, are you?" I tease. "I know your parents weren't very original, but I hoped the trait might skip a generation."

Cat smirks and gives me a shove, and I laugh.

"The baby will, of course, have its own name but don't expect me to give up Peanut as a nickname, especially when they're little."

"Okay, as a nickname, but have you given any consideration to boy's or girl's names yet?"

Cat just shook her head no.

"Really? I thought all girls had this planned out since, like age eight."

Cat shrugs. "I don't know. I knew Liam was going to be the father. If it were a boy, I knew he'd want the baby named after himself."

I frown at the idea, hoping that still wasn't the plan, and ask, "And if it's a girl?"

"I honestly haven't given it any thought."

"Never. Not even once? Not even when naming your baby dolls when you were little."

"Well, of course, I named my baby dolls, but that's a lot different from naming a child."

"Not so much. You must have had a favorite name. One you used more than the others?"

I see her concentrating and then she makes a face like what I said made sense suddenly. 

"Emma," she tells me.

"Emma? Really?"

She frowns. "Yes, why? Don't you like it?"

"No, I love it!" and she gives me her first genuine smile since coming out to the waiting room. What the hell is taking that doctor so long?! I couldn't help but think this is a hell of a thing to do to new moms as many of the women I've seen come here, come alone. I couldn't imagine what that must do to their mental state, not having any distraction until they call them back.

"Cat Fischer!"

Cat leaps up from her seat, and so do I. I take her hand and we walk back together.

We get into the doctor's office and the nurse who led us back shut the door once we were settled inside. The doctor still wasn't here, and I think I could power a small city with the nervous energy coming from Cat's bouncing leg.

The door opens and the doctor steps in. "Hello... Cat, is it?"

"Yes." Cat shakes the doctor's outstretched hand.

"Dr. Packert," he provides and has a seat behind the desk. "Cat, the reason we brought you back today is that we noticed an abnormality."

"With the baby?!" Cat asked, alarmed.

"No, with your umbilical cord."

Cat looks at me and back at the doctor. Her head moved so quickly that I'm surprised she didn't give herself whiplash. "What does that mean?"

The doctor leans forward with his hands folded on the desk. "You have what we call an SUA, Single Umbilical Artery. You see, most cords have one vein and two arteries. The vein carries oxygenated blood front the placenta to the baby and the arteries carry deoxygenated blood from the baby to the placenta."

"What happens if you only have one artery?"

"Well, it puts the baby a higher risk of complications."

"Complications?" I watch as she grows pale. "What sort of complications?"

"Having an SUA increases the risk of the baby having cardiac, skeletal, intestinal, or renal problems. The baby also runs a higher risk of developing congenital abnormalities, especially of the heart. Some are life threatening."

"What I can do about this?"

"Honestly, nothing. Which is why I was wondering if you would ever consider aborting the baby?"

"What?!" Cat and I say in unison. We just got done watching this baby on the monitor, watching it squirm from all the poking and prodding the technician was doing to get the pictures and measurements.

Cat's eyes are brimming with tears, and she's shaking her head no.

"I know it's a hard decision to make, but you can't be selfish here, Cat. Think about the child. A child born with these kinds of abnormalities has zero chance of having a normal life, let alone a quality life. You're young, you can try again, but do you sincerely believe it's fair to subject a child to that kind of living?"

Cat just breaks down. Tears just streamed down her face. "I can't. I... I just can't..."

"Hold up here, Doc. You're saying the baby is at risk. What kind of risk are we talking about here?"

"And you are?" The doctor asks, annoyed with my interruption, but I couldn't care less. I am angered by how he is badgering Cat into making such an important decision.

"Alex Bragin. Cat's fiancé."

"Are you the baby's father?"

"No," I say, not liking where he is going with this. He is trying to discount my opinion already before it's ever given.

"Having an SUA increases the child's risk by 50%."

Cat's head shoots up. "50%! The child has a 50% chance of those things happening?"

"I seriously think you ought to consider..." the doctor continues, but I notice he didn't answer Cat's question.

"Fifty percent of what?" I chime in and the doctor glowers at me. Obviously aggravated by my interruption again.

"Excuse me?" he says.

"You said her chance increases by 50%. What is the percentage of mothers that have an SUA?"

"It happens in about 1% of all pregnancies."

My eyes widen and I shake my head, thinking he can't be effing serious. "One percent of all pregnancies, and out of those, what chance is there of something going wrong?"

"About 25%."

"Tell me Doc, if the meteorologist said there was a 25% chance of rain, would you carry an umbrella?"

"I don't follow?" the doctor said, and even Cat is looking at me like what am I getting at. Math, however, is one of my best subjects in school.

"You're asking Cat to have an abortion when she has 75% percent chance that there is absolutely nothing wrong with the child she is carrying."

"Now if you told me there was a 75% chance of rain, I may carry an umbrella or change my plans for the day, but if say there is only a 25% chance I'd be more than willing to take my chances."

Cat looks from me and back at the doctor as the realization of what I saying sinks in.

"Oh, my God! Is he right?"

"Yes," the doctor says, but even now his face shows no remorse.

Cat swipes angrily at her tears and nods. "We're done here." She stands up and I am right at her side.

"Cat?" She stops momentarily at the door, she whirls back and I knew this Doctor was in for it.

"Don't! Don't you dare say another word! In fact, I'm going to talk to Dr. Devereux about this conversation and for the rest of my pregnancy... YOU are NEVER to consult me again! God only knows how many mothers you've preyed on and confused into making the biggest mistake of their lives. They have sacrificed how many children as a result? You should be ashamed of yourself."

And with that, Cat swung the door open, and I followed her out of the office.