Part 2
Dr. Vance did not speak immediately.
That was what Marcus remembered later—the silence. Not Penelope’s hand gripping the edge of the examination table. Not his mother’s pearl necklace trembling against her throat. Not Roxanne’s impatient little laugh dying halfway out of her mouth.
Only silence.
The monitor glowed in the dim room, soft gray shapes shifting beneath the doctor’s careful hand. A moment earlier, Marcus had been standing with his shoulders back, already imagining cigars, congratulations, and his father’s old signet ring on a son’s hand someday.
Now Dr. Vance set the probe aside.
“Mr. Henderson,” he said, “I need to clarify something before we continue.”
Marcus frowned. “Clarify what?”
Penelope’s face had gone pale beneath her makeup.
The doctor looked at her first, then back at him. “The measurements indicate the pregnancy is further along than previously reported.”
Roxanne straightened. “How much further?”
Dr. Vance kept his voice even. “Approximately six weeks.”
Marcus blinked. “That’s impossible.”
No one moved.
His mother, Evelyn, pressed one hand to her chest. “Doctor, maybe your machine is wrong.”
“The equipment is functioning properly,” Dr. Vance said. “I would recommend confirming with prior medical records, but the fetal development is consistent.”
Marcus turned slowly toward Penelope.
She would not look at him.
“What does that mean?” he asked, though he already understood enough to feel the room tilting beneath his feet.
The doctor folded his hands. “It means the conception date may not match what you were told.”
Roxanne whispered, “Penelope?”
Penelope swallowed. Her lips parted, but no answer came.
Marcus laughed once, sharply. “No. No, that’s not right. She told me. We were together after the charity gala.”
Dr. Vance’s expression did not change. “There is one more thing.”
Marcus stared at the monitor.
“Say it.”
The doctor hesitated only a second. “The baby appears to be a girl.”
The room went completely still.
Evelyn sank into the chair beside the wall as though someone had cut invisible strings. Roxanne covered her mouth, not from sympathy, but from the shock of watching the story she had helped celebrate collapse in front of strangers.
Marcus stepped back from the bed.
“A girl,” he repeated.