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The sun was coming through the kitchen window in a bright, heavy beam, warming the back of Max’s neck. She was slumped in one of the wooden chairs, her knees pulled up slightly, her chin resting in her hand as she watched Sue peel a potato into the sink. With Lucas out with the boys for what was going to be a D&D campaign revival of the old days at Dustin’s house, Max had gladly accepted Sue’s invitation to spend the afternoon at the house instead of staring at the walls of her own place.
The tap was running a slow trickle, and the radio in the living room was tuned low to a baseball game Charles was listening to. Every few minutes, a floorboard would creak as Charles shifted in his chair.
"Dustin's going to lose his mind if Mike kills his character off again," Max said into the quiet.
Sue didn't stop peeling, the knife moving rhythmically against the skin, dropping small brown shavings into the basin. "Dustin loses his mind if someone looks at him wrong. He'll survive."
"He called our landline at seven-thirty this morning trying to get Lucas," Max said, her voice flat, staring at a water ring on the tabletop. "Woke both of us up. Lucas stumbles out of bed thinking it's an emergency, and it's just Dustin ranting because Mike told him yesterday he couldn't use some custom spells. Dustin wanted Lucas to call Mike before the game to take his side."
"At seven-thirty on a Sunday?" Sue asked, turning off the tap with a quick flick of her wrist. "I would have hung up on him."
"Lucas almost did," Max muttered, her fingers tracing the edge of the wood. "Told him if he called our house before nine AM again on a weekend, he was letting his character get eaten by a goblin in the first five minutes."
Sue wiped her hands on a yellow dish towel hanging from the oven handle, then pulled out the wooden chair across from Max and sat down with a small sigh, resting her forearms on the table. "They always do this when they try to get together now. Give them three hours in a basement with some graph paper and they're twelve years old again."
"Lucas took his old dice bag," Max added. "The red one from middle school. The one with the missing drawstring."
"I know," Sue said, a faint, dry smirk touching her mouth. "He came here and spent ten minutes in the hallway searching for it yesterday like it was pure gold."
"He’s ridiculous, he acted like he was going to war,” Max muttered, while picking up a stray piece of apple Sue had sliced earlier, turning it over in her fingers. "It's weirdly quiet in here without Erica."
"Tell me about it," Sue chuckled, shaking her head fondly as she set her tea mug down. "Every time I walk past her room, I still expect to hear her shouting into the phone, bargaining with someone, or organizing her debate notes. College suits her, but the house definitely feels empty without all that noise."
"She called last night, you know," Max said, a tiny, affectionate smirk touching her lips. "Spent ten whole minutes lecturing Lucas on why she needs to be named godmother officially before anyone else even tries to claim it. She told him Steve wasn't qualified because he'd probably try to buy the baby a tiny pair of loafers before a crib."
Sue let out a rich, bright laugh that reached her eyes. "Of course she did. She's already planning how to spoil this baby from two states away.”
Sue set her tea mug down and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, her eyes lighting up with genuine, eager excitement. "Five days until your doctor appointment, right?”
Max’s face brightened, a real, unstoppable grin breaking through her usual guarded expression. "Five days. And honestly? We're both losing our minds waiting. I just want Friday to get here already."
"Do you have a gut feeling?" Sue asked, her eyes full of warm curiosity.
Max picked up her tea mug, turning it slowly in her hands as her smile softened into something deeply tender. "Honestly? Some days I'm totally convinced it's a girl—someone stubborn who's going to give Lucas a run for his money. But then other days... I don't know. I keep picturing a little boy who looks exactly like Lucas when he was a kid. What about you? Did you know with Lucas?"
"Oh, I was certain he was a boy from the very beginning," Sue said with a fond laugh, leaning back slightly. "Carried him high and he never stopped moving. Though with Erica, I was convinced she was going to be a boy right up until the second she was born, so my instincts aren't completely foolproof." She paused, her eyes softening as she watched Max. "Either way, Lucas is going to be so good with this baby, Max."
Max looked down at her mug, her thumb tracing the smooth ceramic handle as a soft, genuinely fond smirk played on her lips. “I know, he already is. Every night before we go to sleep, he just lays his hand over my stomach and talks to them—tells them about his day, or reads whatever article he found, like they're already sitting right there listening to him. He tries to sound so grown-up and official about it, but then he'll whisper something completely ridiculous like he's sharing a secret." Max let out a soft huff of a laugh, shaking her head. "He just cares so much. They're going to have him wrapped around their finger in about two seconds flat."
Sue let out a quiet, affectionate laugh, her eyes shining with quiet maternal pride as she looked across at Max. "You two are going to do so wonderful together."
Max went quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the condensation dripping down the side of her mug. She let out a small, quiet breath before looking up at Sue, her posture softening out of her usual defensive shell.
"I don't say it enough, but... he really is the best thing that ever happened to me," Max said quietly, her tone simple, understated, and completely sincere. "Growing up, I didn't really have an example of a man who actually stays and takes care of his family. I always thought people like that only existed in movies. But Lucas... he just shows up. Every single day. He doesn't make a big deal out of it, he just does it." She swallowed, meeting Sue's eyes with a gentle, appreciative look. "I know a lot of that comes from how you and Charles raised him. So thank you, for raising someone who knows how to be a real partner."
Sue stared at Max for a second, her eyes glistening slightly as a soft, deeply moved smile spread across her face. She reached across the table, taking Max’s hand in hers and giving it a warm, firm squeeze. "That means more to me than you know, Max. But Lucas is the man he is because he loves you. You gave him someone worth standing up for."
Max looked down at their joined hands, a quiet warmth settling over her chest. She couldn't quite bring herself to say anything else without her voice cracking, so she just gave Sue's fingers a small, tight squeeze in return.
Sue patted her hand once more before pushing back her chair, wiping a tiny stray lash from her cheek.
As Sue stood up, Max unconsciously shifted in the hard wooden chair, arching her back slightly and pressing the back of her hand against her lower spine to ease a dull, subtle ache.
Sue caught the movement immediately, her maternal radar clicking right in. She looked at Max's awkward posture and shook her head with fond, knowing amusement. "Those kitchen chairs are brutal when you're carrying extra weight in the front. Hold on—I'm going to grab a cushion from the hall closet before your lower back completely gives out on you."
Sue stepped out of the kitchen, her footsteps tapping softly against the linoleum as she walked into the hallway toward the stairs.
Max rolled her eyes fondly at Sue's observation, relaxing back alone at the quiet table. She brought the apple slice halfway to her mouth, but before her teeth could touch it, her hand went completely still in mid-air.
She froze.
It wasn't a sharp pain, and it didn't feel like the dull, heavy ache in her lower back. Deep down under her sweater—right near the top band of her jeans—there was a tiny, weird pop. Like an air bubble snapping underwater, or that faint, involuntary muscle twitch you get in your eyelid, except it was deep inside her middle.
Her hand dropped from the table, her thumb pressing flat against the heavy knit cotton of her sweater right where the sensation had happened.
Sue walked back into the kitchen carrying the faded floral cushion, catching the sudden, rigid shift in posture immediately. She paused near the doorway, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “Max? What's wrong?”
Max didn't move. She stared straight down at her own hand pressed into her sweater, her brow pulling together as she waited. "I don't know."
"Is it a cramp?" Sue asked, setting the cushion down on the empty chair beside her, her voice turning lower, pragmatic.
"No," Max murmured, her thumb pressing a little deeper into the knit of her sweater. "Just... felt weird."
"What'd it feel like?"
"Like a twitch," Max said, her voice flat and focused as she stayed dead still. "Or a bubble bursting."
Sue looked at her for a long second, then let out a single, quiet breath, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "That's your baby."
Max looked up, her guard instantly going up a fraction at Sue's tone. "What do you mean?"
"That's what it feels like before they can actually hit you from the inside," Sue said simply, reaching across the table to pull her tea mug closer. "Little air bubbles."
Max looked back down at her hand, still resting against her lower stomach. She stayed dead quiet for three or four seconds, processing it while the baseball game hummed in the background.
"Felt weird," Max muttered softly, her thumb making a small, slow circle against the fabric. "I thought I was just digesting lunch or something."
"It catches you off guard the first time," Sue said, taking a slow sip of her tea. "You think you're imagining it until it happens again."
Sue reached for the floral cushion, holding it out toward the back of Max's chair. "Slide forward a second."
Max did, easing her weight off the wood so she could wedge it behind her lower back.
"Wait till Lucas hears," Sue said softly, a warm, subtle smirk on her face as she looked toward the window. "He's going to lose his mind."
Max didn't say anything out loud, but a tiny, faint twitch of a smile touched the corner of her mouth as she leaned back into the cushion, her palm staying flat over her sweater in the quiet warmth of the kitchen.
The quiet held for a few minutes, the sun dipping slightly lower behind the treeline outside. Max was now sitting straighter, supported by the floral cushion, though she still leaned in toward the table. Her hand had slipped beneath her sweater now, resting against the denim of her jeans, making slow, methodical circles. She was staring intently at the salt shaker, but it was clear she was focused entirely on what was going on inside her.
Sue was the one to finally break the silence, her voice landing soft and grounded. "Did it... happen again?"
Max didn't answer immediately. She kept her eyes on the salt shaker, her breathing slow and measured, as if any movement might scare the sensation away. After a few beats, she finally shook her head, a brief, sharp motion. "No," she murmured, her voice sounding far away.
"Sometimes they only give you one at first," Sue explained, picking up the kettle again and pouring a careful stream into her own mug, then offering it toward Max. "You want a cup?"
Max looked up from the salt shaker, her gaze clearing. "Yeah. Please."
Sue poured a fresh cup for Max and slid the milk and sugar across, offering it back to her.
She wrapped both hands around the ceramic warmth, picking up the sugar spoon and turning it over in her fingers before scooping a precise measure. "It just... felt so weird. I didn't think it would be like that."
"Like what?" Sue asked, leaning in slightly.
"I don't know," Max said, staring at the swirling sugar. "I guess I thought it would be bigger. Or sharper."
"The big ones come later," Sue noted dryly, but not unkindly. "These are the easy ones. Enjoy them while you can."
Max added a splash of milk and picked up her mug. She didn't sip it yet; she just held it close, looking at Sue. The sun was still coming through the window, but the angle had shifted slightly, pulling the beam further across the floor.
"Lucas is going to be so annoyed he wasn't here," Max said softly, almost to herself.
"How long were you pregnant with him before you felt it?" Max added after a beat, looking over at Sue.
Sue leaned back in her chair, a reflective look softening her eyes as she traced the rim of her tea cup. "About twenty weeks. Right around the start of fall. I was standing in the grocery store aisle trying to pick out apples, and I nearly dropped the whole bag."
Max listened, her thumb tracing the smooth ceramic handle of her mug. The idea of Sue—always so put-together and practical—getting flustered at a grocery store made the whole thing feel a little less intimidating.
"Was he... a big kicker?" Max asked, her voice turning quiet, almost shy, as she stared into the swirl of milk in her tea. "When you were carrying him?"
"Huge," Sue said softly, her eyes filling with that warm memory. "He'd kick every time I sat down to eat or tried to read in bed. He made his presence known early.”
"He really was relentless," she added gently, leaning back and resting her hands on the tabletop.
"So if this one takes after him, Max, you'd better get used to keeping that cushion behind you," Sue said with a small, fond smile.
Max let out a tiny, genuine breath—a quiet, subtle movement in her shoulders. She leaned back against the floral padding, taking a slow sip of her tea, her hand settling back flat against her sweater in the quiet warmth of the afternoon.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden front door down the hall clicked open, followed immediately by the familiar, energetic thud of sneakers hitting the entryway floor and the rustle of a heavy backpack being unceremoniously dropped.
“I’m back!” Lucas's voice called out from the hallway, still full of adrenaline. "We finished the campaign! Dustin's party got wiped by a manticore in like ten minutes, it was completely ridiculous—“
He rounded the doorway into the kitchen with quick steps, wiping a smudge of dirt off his cheek with his sleeve. He was directing the end of his sentence towards his family at the table, his eyes bright with the residual energy of the game.
But then his pace slowed, and he stopped walking altogether. He looked at Max again, taking in how still she was sitting, her hand carefully resting flat over her stomach, with the floral cushion wedged behind her back, and then glanced at Sue, who was sitting in a quiet, deliberate silence.
His brow furrowed, his tone instantly shifting into deep, immediate suspicion as he stepped closer to Max's chair. "Wait, what? What did I miss?”.
Instead of answering right away, Max reached out with her free hand, catching the hem of his denim shirt and giving it a firm, affectionate tug. "Come here," she murmured.
Lucas moved without hesitation, stepping right beside her chair and leaning down, his dark eyes searching her face with steady focus. "Max? What's going on?"
"Your child popped a bubble," Max said softly, a tiny smile playing on her lips.
Before he could ask what that meant, she took his wrist and guided his broad palm directly over the spot on her lower belly under her sweater.
"Right here," she whispered.
Lucas froze. His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes widening as his bare palm flattened against the front of her sweater. He didn't move a muscle for several long seconds, staring down at her stomach before looking back up into her eyes.
"Like... moving?" Lucas asked, his voice suddenly much softer, all the suspicion vanishing as he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down low. "Are you serious?"
Max nodded, a tiny, genuine twitch pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. Like ten minutes ago. Just once."
Lucas let out a breath that was half a laugh and half an exasperated groan, rubbing the back of his neck, though a wide, helpless smile broke across his face as he looked from her eyes back to her sweater. "I cannot believe I was listening to Dustin argue about spell slots while that happened," he mumbled softly, his hand lingering gently over her stomach.
Sue gave a quiet, fond shake of her head from across the table, picking up her tea mug with a warm, knowing smile. "Well, you've got several months left, Lucas. I'm sure you'll catch the next one.”
"Yeah," Lucas said, his hand resting lightly near Max's knee on the edge of her chair, his voice dropping low so it was mostly just between the two of them. "I'm not leaving the house. At all."
Max let out a small, genuine puff of air—a tiny, reluctant laugh that she couldn't quite hold back. She kept her palm resting over his where it sat on her bump. "You don't have to hover around like a guard dog, Lucas. Nothing's going to happen on command."
"I'm not hovering," Lucas insisted, though his smile only widened, his eyes scanning her face with that bright, helpless awe. "I'm just saying... I'm staying right here."
Sue gave a quiet, fond shake of her head from across the table, gathering her empty mug and standing up to carry it over to the sink with a quiet, knowing smile.
"I'm going to head out to the porch and catch the last bit of daylight," Sue said, pausing by the doorway and giving Lucas's shoulder a brief, warm squeeze. She turned back toward the table, her eyes softening as she looked at the two of them sitting so close together. "Take your time, you two."
Once the back door clicked shut behind her, the kitchen fell into a complete, comfortable quiet. The sun had dipped lower behind the treeline, painting long, warm shadows across the linoleum.
Lucas shifted his chair closer, his hand remaining firmly clasped with Max's where she held it over her sweater. The lingering adrenaline from his D&D campaign was totally gone, replaced by a quiet, focused tenderness.
"Did it... hurt at all?" he asked softly, his dark eyes searching hers.
“No, it didn't hurt," Max murmured, looking straight back at him without a trace of hesitation. She gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Just felt like a little pulse. Surprised me more than anything."
Lucas let out a small, silent exhale, the lingering worry easing from his shoulders. "Good."
"I wish you were here for it," Max added quietly, her gaze holding his. "Even though I know you wouldn't have felt anything. It was way too light, and it’s too soon for real kicks."
Lucas listened, his thumb making a slow, steady circle over the back of her hand. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and genuine. "I hate that I was sitting in Dustin's basement while it happened."
A faint, genuine smile flickered at the corner of Max's mouth. "You would've stared at me like I was about to break."
"Probably," Lucas admitted with a quiet, breathy laugh, leaning in until his forehead rested gently against hers for a brief, grounded second. "I'm not leaving your side next weekend."
"Good," Max whispered, closing her eyes into the touch and giving his hand a tight, steady squeeze. "Don't."
_______________
The five days following that afternoon in the Sinclair kitchen had passed in a quiet, steady rhythm. Outside, the mild air carried the fresh scent of damp earth and blooming trees through the screen windows.
Max sat propped against the headboard of their bed, her knees bent slightly under a light blanket. The book she was reading was resting against her thighs, but her eyes had been stuck on the same page for ten minutes. Instead of reading, her palm was resting flat over the front of her cotton nightshirt, feeling the slow, subtle shifts beneath her hand—no longer just that single air bubble from last week, but gentle, unmistakable flutters.
Lucas came out of the bathroom drying his hands on a small towel, tossing it over the back of the desk chair before sliding off his shoes. He climbed onto the bed, shifting over until his shoulder rested warm against hers, his eyes tracking where her hand was resting near the book.
Without a word, he reached out, his fingers gently covering hers over her stomach.
"Tomorrow's the big day," Lucas murmured softly, looking down at their joined hands.
Max let out a quiet breath, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Yeah. Nine in the morning." She carefully marked her page and closed the book, setting it on the bedside table.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," Max admitted, her voice dropping into that honest, private register. "Mostly I just want to hear that everything's okay in there. Heart, lungs... all of it."
"It's going to be okay," Lucas said gently, placing a soft kiss to the side of her head, his tone carrying that steady, grounded certainty he always brought her. He quieted for a second, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So... do you have a bet?"
Max glanced over at him, her guard softening. "A bet?"
"Yeah. Boy or girl. We've haven’t talked about it, Mayfield, but you’ve gotta have an instinct by now."
"I don't do 'instincts,'" Max muttered, though there was zero bite in her voice. She leaned her head back against the wall behind them, looking up at the ceiling. "Erica already bet twenty bucks with Dustin that it's a girl just so she can start training her to ruin his life."
Lucas let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Erica's biased. What do you think?"
Max stayed quiet for a moment, listening to the soft spring rain starting to patter against the window glass outside. Her hand pressed a fraction deeper against her cotton shirt.
"I don't know," Max whispered, looking back over at him, her eyes dark and steady. "A girl, maybe. Someone tough. Someone who's going to give you as much trouble as I do."
Lucas's smile softened, turning deep and incredibly tender. He reached up, his fingers gently tucking a stray red strand behind her ear. "I can handle two of you," he murmured softly. "I'd like a girl. A little version of you running around."
"God help us," Max muttered, but a real, genuine smile broke across her face as she rested her head against his shoulder, Lucas letting his arm slide around her as they settled into the quiet night before the appointment.
Max shifted slightly, leaning heavier into his side. "It's still just so weird," she whispered, staring quietly at her little bump. "A week ago it was just an underwater pop. Now... it's like a soft little flutter every time I lie still."
"Does it feel different than last week?" Lucas asked softly, his hand resting over hers.
"A little," Max nodded, her voice low. "Still too light for you to feel from the outside, but... it's definitely there. They woke up right while I was reading."
Lucas sat up a bit more, turning his wrist over to check his digital watch in the dim light. "Just think," he murmured, "This is the last night we don't know who this kid is." He let out a small, slow breath that was half anticipation, half nerves.
"Is that terrifying or exciting for you?" Max asked, tilting her head to look up at him.
Lucas met her gaze, his expression softening instantly into that absolute focus he saved just for her. "Both," he admitted honestly. "Exciting, mostly." He glanced toward his nightstand, where the small yellow legal pad sat tucked under his notebook. "At least once tomorrow happens, we can actually narrow down the list."
Max let out a quiet, amused scoff, nudging him with her shoulder. "Oh, God. The list."
"Hey," Lucas protested with a quick, helpless grin. "That list is practical! I categorized them by first and middle initial."
"You have thirty-four names on there, Sinclair. Half of them sound like college basketball players."
"Only four of them!" Lucas defended softly, though his laugh was quiet and warm in the dim room. "And I took off the ones you vetoed last week."
"You kept the ones Erica suggested, which is worse," Max teased gently, settling her head back against his shoulder. "If it's a girl, we are not naming her after an 80s pop star."
"Fair enough," Lucas murmured, his fingers tightening gently around hers over her stomach. "Tomorrow we cross off half the list. Deal?"
"Deal," Max whispered, closing her eyes as the steady rhythm of the spring rain filled the quiet room.
_______________
The waiting room of the Hawkins Community Health Clinic smelled faintly of floor wax, rubbing alcohol, and old magazines. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed a low, constant note, casting a cool sheen over the linoleum.
Max sat in one of the low vinyl chairs, her sneakers resting flat on the tile. She had her hands folded tightly in her lap over her light spring jacket, her thumb unconsciously picking at the seam of her jeans. Beside her, Lucas hadn't let go of her left hand since they sat down twenty minutes ago. His thumb moved in a slow, steady rhythm across her knuckles, his own eyes fixed on the frosted glass door down the hall. Every time that latch clicked, Lucas’s shoulders would go rigid for a fraction of a second, his grip on her hand tightening just enough to remind her that he wasn't going anywhere.
"Sinclair?"
The nurse’s voice called out from the doorway, holding a thin manila folder.
Lucas was on his feet almost instantly, his grip on Max’s hand tightening just enough to anchor her as she pushed herself up from the low chair. She gave him a brief, tight glance—a silent check-in—and he gave her a firm, reassuring nod, his palm warm against hers.
The examination room was small and dimly lit, dominated by the large gray ultrasound machine tucked beside a padded exam table. A small window near the ceiling showed a patch of grey spring sky, rain still smudging the glass.
"Go ahead and lie back, Max," Dr. Aris, Max’s soft-spoken doctor, said kindly as she adjusted the paper lining on the table. "We'll get you comfortable."
Max climbed up, easing her back down onto the paper with a small, familiar sigh. Lucas moved right up to her side, pulling the stool as close as it would go and clasping Max’s hand in his. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face close into her space so her focus stayed anchored on him, his dark eyes steady and fierce with that grounded certainty he always brought her.
"As you know by now, this is going to be a little cold," Dr. Aris warned softly, squeezing a thick ribbon of clear, blue gel onto Max’s exposed lower stomach.
Max gritted her teeth slightly as her shoulders hitched, but before the tension could settle in her frame, the plastic transducer touched down against her skin.
Across the room, the small black-and-white screen flickered to life, filling the dim corner with a grainy, moving blur of gray and white. Then, sudden and loud in the quiet room, the audio speaker on the machine hummed, followed immediately by that rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
It was a sound they’d heard before, but in the small room, it felt like an anchor. Max’s breath hitched in her throat, her eyes darting straight from the ceiling to the monitor. Lucas leaned forward, his entire body going completely still, his jaw slackening as he stared at the screen. His grip on Max’s fingers tightened, but his gaze was mesmerized by the faint, pulsing motion.
"There's the heartbeat," Dr. Aris said gently, her fingers adjusting the dials on the panel. "Strong and steady. One hundred and forty-five beats per minute. Right where we want it."
She moved the wand slowly across Max’s belly, taking her time. "Here are the ventricles in the brain," Dr. Aris explained, pointing with her plastic stylus against the screen. "Stomach is right here... and the spine looks completely closed and aligned."
The quiet in the room stretched out—the kind of stillness that usually made Max's pulse spike with old, conditioned fear. But Lucas kept his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles over the back of her hand, never breaking the physical tether between them as Dr. Aris guided them through each detail.
She looked over at him. The faint glow of the screen was reflected in his eyes, his entire expression stripped bare of his usual stoicism.
"Look at that," Lucas murmured, his voice low and raspy, almost a whisper meant only for her. He pointed a slightly trembling finger toward the screen. "Max... look at the profile."
Max turned her head back to the monitor. The tiny figure was moving slightly—a slow, silent shift. She could see the distinct, rounded curve of the head, the delicate line of the back, and two minuscule arms tucked close up to the chest. Seeing those tiny features made all those faint, internal flutters from the week before coalesce into something overwhelmingly, undeniably real.
Lucas swallowed hard, leaning a fraction closer to the table, his forehead almost touching her shoulder. "Is... is everything looking okay? Hands, feet?"
"Everything looks wonderfully healthy," Dr. Aris reassured them, a warm smile in her voice as she tilted the probe slightly. "See right there? That little cluster near the chin? Five tiny fingers." She tilted the screen a fraction closer toward them, hovering over a clear view between the tiny legs. "Now... do you two want to keep it a surprise, or do you want to know today?"
Max looked over at Lucas. He turned his head to meet her gaze, his dark eyes wide and deep, filled with an open, vulnerable waiting that needed no words. He didn't push or speak; he just held her hand tighter and waited for her lead.
Max looked back up at the monitor, then at Lucas again, a soft breath escaping her lips. "We want to know," she whispered, her voice surprisingly clear in the quiet room.
Dr. Aris smiled, tapping her stylus against a specific angle on the grainy screen. "Well... right there, you can see. No doubt about it." She turned her head toward them both. "You're having a little girl."
The words hung in the air, soft and profound.
Lucas froze. A quick, sharp breath caught in his chest, his eyes locking back onto the monitor for a long, unblinking three seconds as if trying to memorize every single pixel of proof. When he finally turned back down to Max, his face was entirely transformed—a wide, bright, almost disbelieving smile breaking across his features, his eyes shining in the dim light of the room.
"A girl," Lucas breathed out, his voice cracking entirely. He leaned down, pressing his forehead warmly against hers, his hand holding hers so tightly she could feel the faint tremor in his fingers. "Max... it's a girl."
Max didn't say anything at first. She just stared up at the monitor through a sudden, hot sting in her eyes, a helpless, genuine laugh bubbling up from her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut against his temple. She reached her free hand up, her fingers digging gently into the soft fabric at the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the steady, fast rhythm of their daughter's heart continued to fill the quiet room around them.
Dr. Aris slipped out of the room quietly, leaving them alone under the low, humming fluorescent light. The black-and-white monitor had gone dark, but the air in the tiny space still vibrated with the word she’d spoken.
A girl.
Lucas didn't sit straight back, he remained leaning over the exam table, his forehead still gently pressed against hers. The hand that had been clenched tight around hers for twenty minutes slowly relaxed, his fingers sliding up her arm to cup her shoulder.
His breathing was still unsteady—quick, shallow hitches that he was trying, and failing, to control. Slowly, Max felt the slight tremor in his frame ease, replaced by a deep, grounded calm.
"A girl, Max," Lucas whispered again. The voice that was always so sharp and focused sounded stripped bare, soft and thick with a profound, awestruck humility. "We have a daughter."
Max let out a shaky breath that was half laugh, half sob. She pulled her hand out from under his and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart, feeling it hammer a frantic, joyful rhythm against her palm.
"I know," she murmured, her throat tight. She leaned back just an inch, tilting her head to look up at him.
The low light from the screen had illuminated his eyes before, but now they were just a few inches from her own. He looked entirely different. The persistent, defensive guard he always carried—the one that matched hers—was completely gone. He was smiling, a wide, open expression that showed his teeth, his dark eyes wide and shining in the dim light.
Lucas leaned in, resting his forehead against hers again, his hand moving up to frame the side of her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling as he looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Max. For... for everything. For being so strong. For giving us this."
A warm tear slipped down Max's cheek, but she was smiling—a real, radiant smile that reached all the way to her eyes. "Lucas..."
"I love you," he cut in gently, his voice ringing clear and steady through the quiet room. "I love you so much. Both of you."
Max swallowed down the lump in her throat, her fingers knotting into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him down into a tender, lingering kiss. When they broke apart, she kept her forehead pressed against his, her hand covering his where it rested over the side of her neck.
"I love you too," Max whispered softly into the space between them.
Lucas carefully picked up the small printed strip of ultrasound photos from the metal tray, staring at the tiny, grainy blur. A soft, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of him.
"Erica is going to claim full rights to picking out her wardrobe," Lucas warned softly, shaking his head. "She’s going to try to dress her like a pageant contestant."
Max snapped her head toward him so fast her hair whipped around her face. "Over my dead body."
"Max, you know how Erica is—"
"I don't care if she's the president, Lucas!" Max declared, her hands staying glued to her belly like a human shield. "This is my girl. She’s wearing denim overalls, she’s learning how to drop into a half-pipe, and if your sister tries to put a giant pink bow on her head, I will personally banish her from the house. I am not raising a dainty little doll for Hawkins to mess with."
Lucas’s eyes crinkled with absolute delight as he watched her. "So... no bows?"
"No bows, no ruffled socks, and zero input from anyone," Max specified, deadpan. "I have exclusive trademark rights to this baby."
Lucas snorted, pulling her into a tight, affectionate hug and kissing the top of her red hair. "You heard her, kid," he whispered toward her bump. "Mom's in charge."
"Damn right," Max muttered, though a small, victorious smirk broke through her tough exterior as she leaned her head against his chest.
Lucas pulled her closer, his thumb stroking her arm. "You're going to be an incredible mom, Max."
“I’ll try to be the best for her," Max murmured, her fingers tightening in his shirt. "Now wipe off this gel and help me off this table before my back stays stuck like this."
_______________
The ride back from the clinic was quieter than the drive there, but it was a completely different kind of quiet. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and black under the dull spring gray of the sky. Lucas drove with one hand on the wheel and his other firmly holding Max’s across the bench seat, his thumb tracing smooth, steady patterns over her knuckles. The printed strip of ultrasound photos sat tucked safely into the sun visor above his head.
When they pulled up to their place, Lucas practically scrambled out to open Max’s door before she could even reach for the handle.
"I can walk, Sinclair," Max muttered, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her.
"Just making sure," Lucas said with a wide, easy grin, helping her step down onto the damp gravel.
Inside, the apartment was warm and smelled faintly of toasted bread and rain from the cracked window in the kitchen. Lucas immediately shed his jacket and headed toward the kitchen counter.
"I'm making tea," he called out, his voice buzzing with that restless, happy energy he'd been carrying since Dr. Aris said girl. "Chamomile for you. And then I’m getting that notebook out.'"
Max let out a quiet huff of laughter, hanging her jacket on the back of the chair. "Good idea."
While Lucas bustled around the kitchen—the rhythmic clink of mugs and the splash of water filling the background—Max walked through their little house until she reached the small spare room they had designated for the nursery.
The door was pushed halfway open. She slipped inside, the soft light of the late afternoon spilling through the window and reflecting off the warm wood floors. It was still mostly empty—a flat-packed crib frame resting against the wall, a couple of cardboard boxes tucked in the corner, and a plush, cream-colored armchair positioned near the window sill.
Max crossed the room slowly and sat down on the armchair, easing back against the soft fabric. The house was quiet around her, broken only by the faint, muffled sounds of Lucas moving around in the kitchen.
Surrounded by the gentle stillness of the room that would soon belong to her daughter, Max looked down. She unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of her cardigan and slid her hand underneath, resting her palm flat against the gentle, firm swell of her belly.
The warmth of her own skin met her palm. And then, as if on cue in the quiet room, she felt it—that distinct, undeniable little flutter against her inner wall.
A tiny, silent kick.
Max caught her breath, her chest swelling with a feeling so huge and sudden it made her throat ache. There were no nurses, no machines, no Lucas watching with wide eyes. Just her, and the little girl growing inside her.
Max pressed her fingers a fraction deeper, a soft, radiant smile spreading across her face. She leaned down slightly, her eyes fixed on her hand as her voice dropped into an absolute whisper, meant for only one pair of ears in the entire universe.
"Hey," Max whispered softly against her skin. Her voice was thick, tender, and raw with emotion. "It’s just me. I know it’s kind of crazy out there... and everybody is already going insane trying to figure out who you’re going to be. But you don't have to worry about any of that."
She paused, taking a slow, shaky breath as she felt another subtle ripple under her palm.
"I know what it’s like to feel like you have to be tough," Max murmured, her thumb stroking gentle, small circles against her warm bump. "To feel like the world is too loud, or too much. When I was growing up, it was always loud. Running, yelling, packing boxes in the dark... never knowing if home was actually safe, or just somewhere we were stuck for a little while. I spent so long building up walls just so nothing could hurt me."
Max looked around the quiet, half-painted room, her gaze resting on the warm sunlight filtering through the glass.
"I swear to you, kiddo... you are never going to deal with any of that," Max whispered, her voice dropping into a fierce, unwavering vow. "You're never going to have to hide in your room, or walk on eggshells, or wonder if someone is going to lose their temper. You'll never hear screaming through the walls or sit on the steps wishing you were somewhere else. You're safe here. Your dad and I are going to make sure of it."
She looked back down at her hand, imagining a small crib by the window, tiny shoes by the door, and the sound of laughter filling the space.
"You're going to have your own space. A real room that nobody can take away from you. You're going to play music as loud as you want, and you're going to sleep soundly every single night knowing that we're right down the hall. No fear. No running."
She let out a soft, breathy laugh, a tear finally slipping down her cheek and soaking into her collar.
"And your dad... he's already terrified of doing something wrong," Max murmured, her thumb continuing its steady, loving stroke. "He's going to drive us both a little crazy with his lists and his worrying, but he's going to love you more than anything in this world. He's going to be the kind of dad who shows up to every single thing you do, who listens when you talk, and who makes sure you know you're never alone."
Max swallowed down the lump in her throat, her chest rising and falling in deep, steady rhythms.
"And I'm going to teach you how to ride a board, and how to speak your mind, and how to never let anyone make you feel small. You're going to know exactly how strong you are, but you'll never have to use that strength just to survive like I did."
Max leaned back into the armchair, resting both hands over her stomach, holding her daughter close as the quiet peace of the nursery wrapped around them.
"We're ready for you, little girl," Max whispered, her eyes shining in the soft afternoon light. "We're so ready."