“I gotta get this.”

“You sound like you’re marching to your execution, Griff, not answering a phone call,” Lincoln observes.

“Pretty much the same where Imogen is concerned.” I answer the call. “Hello, Imogen.”

She hiccups into the phone.

“What’s wrong now?” Two days ago, she called me in tears over the lack of ice cream in her freezer, and then she cried later about how fat she’s getting.

“I’m in urgent care.”

“What? Why? Where?” I’m already out of my chair, gathering my things.

“I had cramps. I thought it was nothing, but there’s spotting. I’m scared, Griffin. They’re sending me to Lenox Hill Hospital for tests.” Her panic sounds real. “It’s too early for the baby to come.”

“It’ll be okay; everything is going to be fine. Are you in the urgent care center in the building? I’ll come and get you. I’ll take you to the hospital.” I feel horrible for the way I was talking about her, especially now.

“I’m already on my way to the hospital.”

“I’ll meet you there.” I cover the receiver and turn to Lincoln. “I gotta go. Imogen is spotting and cramping.”

“This isn’t your fault, Griff,” he says as if he’s inside my head and knows exactly what I’m thinking.

If something happens to that baby, I’m going to feel like I willed it. I hail a cab, grateful it’s not rush hour. Imogen ends the call when she arrives at the hospital, which means I have no idea what’s happening. I feel like shit for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that Imogen is having my baby, and I don’t want a relationship with her.

By the time I get there, Imogen has finished registering. “Thank God you’re here!” She throws herself into my arms, sobbing hysterically.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything is going to be fine. The baby will be fine, Imogen.” I unwrap her shaking arms from around me and take her face in my hands. Her cheeks are tear-stained. I wipe away the fresh ones that fall, aware that this is stressful, and she doesn’t always handle it well. “I need you to take a deep breath.”

“I-I-I’m so scared. What if there’s something wrong with the baby? What if he comes early? The nursery isn’t ready.”

“We’ll manage it if he comes early, and don’t worry about the nursery, we can deal with that later. For now, just breathe.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“The welfare of our child is at stake, of course I’ll be here.”

She hugs me again, sniffling. We’re ushered into a room and a nurse comes in to perform a series of tests which show that both her blood pressure and her heart rate are elevated. She buries her face against my shoulder and squeezes my hand when they take blood.

“We’re going to take you for an ultrasound so we can get a peek at what’s going on in there.”

Imogen puts a protective hand over her belly. “Is that necessary?”

“It won’t take long, and it won’t harm the baby.” The nurse helps her into a wheelchair, and I push her down the hall to the ultrasound clinic.

They give her a gown and room to change into. She looks up at me with wide, imploring eyes. “Could you help me, please?”

“Of course.” I follow her into the small change room and draw the curtain closed. I haven’t been this close to Imogen willingly since she broke off the engagement all those months ago. It’s awkward and uncomfortable as I help her out of her dress and into her hospital gown. I kneel in front of her, tying the too-short strings, and put a hand on her swollen belly. “You’re going to be okay, little man. Your mom and I are going to take such good care of you, so sit tight for a couple more months.”

Imogen runs her manicured nails through my hair and smiles down at me. “Thank you for being here with us. I know this hasn’t been easy.”

I stand, holding out a hand, which she takes. This intimacy feels unnatural now. We’re ushered quickly into the ultrasound room, where I help Imogen up onto the table. The technician comes in a few minutes later and squeezes gel onto Imogen’s belly. She has a soft voice and a maternal air, but the room is still full of tension, probably mostly mine.

When she moves the machine over Imogen’s rounded belly, the steady, rhythmic sound of a heartbeat fills the room. I glance at the screen, and suddenly my chest feels so full it hurts. I reach out and take Imogen’s hand. Because I can see my son and hear his tiny heart beating.

“Isn’t he amazing?” she asks.

I squeeze her hand. “He is.”

And I get it now, why Lincoln is so worried, why Cosy was so insistent I do the right thing, why two people who don’t love each other will band together to raise a child, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness.