The room was dark but warm, suffocatingly so. Her back pressed against sticky black plastic, body tilted to 45 degrees. The screen in the corner flickered into action, indecipherable digits bright around its dark face. She reached out for the warm fingers beside her, gulping down blood-stained memories of stillness. Fuzzy white shapes filled the screen.
“Oh,” said the sonographer. But she already knew. Blinking too fast, she felt the warm fingers grip tighter. She sensed his fear but couldn’t tear her eyes from the pulsating image. He still hadn’t realised when the second pulse appeared.
“Twins,” she whispered, gulping again.