“Yes,” I replied, but Grant didn’t say anything. He seemed tense. I reached up and rubbed his arm to try to ease his strained expression. This wasn’t going to hurt me or the baby.

“Good, let’s see if we can find out what we’re having here,” the doctor said as he sat down on a stool. “Normally, the nurse does this, but I want to check some things while you’re here. I brought her along in case I forget something,” he explained.

I turned my attention back to Grant, whose complete focus was on the currently blank screen.

“You OK?” I asked. He dropped his gaze to mine.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” he asked, suddenly realizing he hadn’t checked on me in the past few minutes while we were waiting. He was more than overprotective. Since my belly had started to show, he had gotten a little crazy with the hovering thing.

The doctor moved the device over my stomach and nodded his head toward the screen. “Here we go,” he said as an image of our baby began to appear.

Grant’s hand gripped mine tighter as the screen very clearly showed two little feet stuck up in the air.

I couldn’t form words as the doctor chuckled. “Well, that was easy to spot. She’s making it very easy.”

She.

That one word was more powerful than I could have imagined.

She.

I sniffled and blinked rapidly, trying hard to clear my vision so I could see her.

“Look there, she’s found her fingers, and she likes them. You may have a thumb sucker,” the doctor said as he showed us our little girl sucking three fingers into her mouth.

I was unable to keep the part-laughter, part-sob from escaping.

“And it looks like she has all her fingers and toes. Her heartbeat still sounds really strong,” the doctor assured us. I hadn’t even noticed the sound—I was so taken in by just watching her—but it was there in its perfect, pumping little rhythm.

“Did you feel that?” the doctor asked me.

I didn’t want to look away from the screen. “What?” I asked.

“A strong fluttering feeling . . . there. Did you feel it?”

I had felt it. I had been feeling it for the past couple of weeks. I had thought it was bad gas.

“Yes,” I said, watching as she kicked seconds after I felt the fluttering feeling.

“The 3-D isn’t real time. It’s delayed. So you’re seeing her kick a few seconds after she does it,” the doctor explained.

“When can I feel it?” Grant asked, speaking up for the first time. I tore my eyes from our daughter to see him watching the screen in complete fascination.

“Give it a couple weeks, and you’ll feel it,” the doctor assured Grant.

For the next fifteen minutes, we sat there watching our little girl wiggle and go from sucking her fingers to her thumb. She also liked to stick her foot up to touch her head. She was perfect.

And I had thought I couldn’t love her more. How very wrong I was.

Grant passed the turn-off for home, and I glanced over at him. We had sat in awed silence for most of the drive. Every once in a while, one of us would ask if the other had seen her do something, and then we would fall silent again. I couldn’t wait to write to her about this moment, because this time, I knew she was a she.

“I have something I want to show you,” he said when he caught me staring at him.

“Um, OK,” I replied, not sure what it could be that required him to drive to the outer town limits of Rosemary Beach. Maybe we were going to the club. I really hoped not. I just wanted to go home and think about our little girl.

Grant didn’t turn toward the club but instead pulled into a gated community that I had always noticed from afar but had never been inside. The houses were all beautiful coastal places that I assumed were mostly owned by out-of-towners who came for vacation or rented them out.

Grant touched a card to the black box, and the gate slowly opened. I wondered if he was building something here, although it didn’t look like any new developments were happening, nor did Grant normally deal in single-residence houses.

We rounded a circle on the road paved with split brick, which I thought was really cool. Then he pulled into a driveway in front of a blue house that looked like it belonged on the front cover of Coastal Living magazine.

Were we visiting someone?

“What do you think?” he asked. The nervousness from earlier in the day was back in his voice.

What did I think? “About the house?” I asked.

He nodded.

I didn’t have to look at it again to know I thought it was an ideal house for a family . . . but wait. Surely not. I fought back excitement at the idea that Grant was considering buying this house for us, and I reminded myself that we were perfectly happy in his condo. We didn’t need a house, even if it was as absolutely perfect as this one.

“I think it’s a beautiful place,” I said carefully. I didn’t want him to think I’d gotten my hopes up. It would upset him if he thought I wasn’t happy where we were, and I didn’t want him to be any more stressed.

“You do?” he asked, still studying my every expression.

I nodded.

He opened his truck door and got out. “Let’s go inside,” he said, before closing his door and walking around to help me as I stepped down on my side.

We were going inside? Did that mean he wanted me to see the inside, or were there people in there? I wanted to get excited, but I was afraid to. I wasn’t sure why we were here.