Chapter 15 - THE BABY’S HEARTBEAT
At thirty-six weeks, my daughter’s growth scan was normal.
Head down.
Fluid normal.
Placenta normal.
No evidence the garden incident harmed her.
I cried anyway.
The ultrasound technician turned the screen slightly.
“Do you want to know estimated weight?”
“Yes.”
“About six pounds four ounces. Estimate.”
Not prophecy.
Good.
Then my obstetrician asked:
“Do you feel safe at home?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeping?”
“Badly.”
“Eating?”
“Better.”
“Any contractions?”
“Braxton Hicks.”
Then she asked about Berenger’s access.
None.
Temporary protective order.
Then delivery.
Could he attend?
No.
Not under current no-contact order.
Could he receive medical information?
Only what I authorized or what legal process required.
Could his parental rights begin after birth?
Yes.
Biological/legal fatherhood would be addressed separately.
The protective order did not erase him as father automatically.
That frightened me.
Dr. Mira said:
“Fear does not mean the court will hand him an unsupervised newborn.”
Good.
No catastrophizing.
Then I chose a doula.
Megan Ross.
Not Dad.
Not because I didn’t love him.
Because I needed someone in the delivery room who had never voted on a board, signed a lawsuit, or slapped my husband.
May you like
Dad pretended offense.
Then admitted relief.
