10 - Max.
647 Words
Three years later
I lean back in my office chair at the end of my shift, bones aching with exhaustion. I'm still in green scrubs from surgery earlier, my white coat tossed across the desk from where I staggered inside here an hour ago. It's been one of those endless shifts, a blur of caffeine and stress, and all I could do when I reached the sanctuary of my office was collapse in the desk chair and type up my notes.
Now my limbs are stiff. Tiredness squeezes my temples. Need to move; need to force myself upright and home to bed.
The thought of my beautiful wife waiting for me there... that gives me a burst of energy. I sit forward with a groan, rolling my aching shoulders.
There's a soft knock at the door. Theresa slips inside and I sit upright, some of the tiredness bleeding away at the sight of her. She's better than a double shot espresso at the end of a long day.
"Am I that late?" I squint at the clock on the wall, vision bleary.
"No." Theresa plucks at her slouchy gray sweater, shifting her weight nervously. She's wearing black jeans and ankle boots, and the toes are damp. Must be raining outside. "But I brought you a present."
Her hands are empty, but I grin. Theresa is always a gift.
I spread my arms. "I can see that. Come here, darling girl."
"No, I..." Theresa turns and marches to the examination bench, hopping up and crooking a finger at me. "I want to do this properly, Max. Come here."
Alright. My limbs are clumsy with fatigue and I'm not sure if I have it in me to rock her world right now, but I'll try. I'll always try, damn it, even after a double shift when my head is stuffed with cotton wool.
The chair creaks as I push to my feet.
"We'll be quieter this time," I tell her muzzily, pointing at the far edge of the examination bench. There's a new layer of padding there now, cushioning where it meets the wall. "I needed to take measures. Dr Branston, in the office next door—after last month, I can barely look her in the eye."
Theresa huffs a laugh. "That's not the gift I brought you, Doc. Come here." She catches my wrist once I'm close enough, tugging me to stand in front of her and spreading my palm over her belly. "Feel anything?"
My world slows down and tilts. Her stomach is firm but slightly curved, more familiar to me at this point than my own, and my hand moves automatically, palpating.
I swallow hard. "Are you...?"
I know the answer before she nods, eyes misty with tears. I'm a mess, too, sniffing hard as I cup my wife's belly. Damn exhaustion. When I pictured this moment before, I always imagined myself being so dignified.
"I've been hoping for a while... and Dad's been hinting about wanting grandkids," Theresa whispers, but it barely registers. I'm too busy staring, dazed, at my hand on her body. "So he'll be pleased too."
I sniff again. Measure the little bump against the span of my hand.
"Are you happy?" Theresa asks at last, nerves threading through her voice, and that jolts me back to earth. I draw her against my chest, rocking her gently as I press kisses against her hair.
"Happy is an understatement," I say, words muffled, and I wish I had more than two brain cells right now. There are so many things to say. So many things I'm feeling, but for now I settle on: "This is a dream, darling girl. You're a dream. I'll take care of you both, I swear."
Her lips move against my neck as she smiles. "I know you will, Dr Storm. And we'll take care of you."
FIN.
- Writer
