Today was The day. The clinic room wasn’t as bright as Oliver expected. Nervous but excited.

Soft white light. Pale blue walls. Quiet enough that he could hear the ticking of a small wall clock.

The nurse handed him a paper gown folded neatly in a clear plastic bag. “Please change. You can leave your clothes folded on the chair.”

He nodded, throat tight, and stepped behind the curtain.

The paper gown crinkled in his hands. Light, almost weightless, but the texture made his skin prickle. Cold air touched his back as he undressed.

When he sat down on the exam table, the paper beneath him crackled too, amplifying the silence.

Oliver’s heart was already thudding in his ears. That dull, rushing sound that felt louder in moments like this.

The door opened again. A doctor this time—mid-forties, friendly voice, steady hands.

“Oliver, I’ll walk you through everything,” she said calmly. “No anesthesia necessary. This will be quick and as comfortable as we can make it. But first, we have an option to discuss.”

She pulled a small tablet from the counter and handed it to him. On the screen were two fertility medication options: 

Gonadotropin Injections 

Oral Hormone Supplements 

The doctor explained quietly:

“These are both designed to increase the chance of implantation. But they come with a higher likelihood of multiple pregnancies. Twins. Triplets, sometimes more.”

Oliver stared down at the options. His hands felt damp—sweating.

“How likely?” he asked quietly.

“We can’t predict for sure,” the doctor said gently. “But it’s a known possibility. It depends on how your body responds.”

Oliver swallowed, thumb hovering over the screen. His pulse was loud enough that it felt like it was vibrating in his fingertips.

Could I really handle two… or three?

His mind spun through images uninvited—flashes like they were already memories:

A kitchen table with three small bowls lined up.

Tiny socks in different colors scattered across the floor.

Laughter.

Noise.

Life everywhere.

And then, softer:

A wide field of flowers, sunlight spilling over the grass.

Oliver standing barefoot, sleeves rolled up, watching two—no, three—small figures running through the grass in front of him.

Their laughter carried on the wind.

One turned back toward him—a child with dark hair and bright eyes—and smiled. The more the merrier. 

Oliver exhaled slowly, his hand steady now.

“Triple the love,” he murmured to himself. “Double the love. Whatever it is… I’ll take it.”

He tapped the option for the injections and handed the tablet back.

The doctor nodded approvingly. “Understood. We’ll administer that first, then begin.”

Oliver lay back against the exam table as the nurse prepared everything. He felt the cool swipe of antiseptic against his skin. The pinch of the injection wasn’t much, but the rush of the medication made his skin feel warm beneath the paper gown.

A sterile tray clicked softly against the counter. Metal tools.

The doctor pulled on gloves, voice calm and steady as she spoke:

“You’ll feel some pressure now.”

Cold metal. A cool, steady slide.

Oliver’s breath caught. It wasn’t painful exactly—just sharp and unfamiliar. His legs tensed automatically, but the nurse’s hand rested lightly against his knee.

“Breathe,” she reminded him gently.

The room felt both too small and too large at once.

Oliver closed his eyes. Focused on the steady rush of blood in his ears. The subtle scent of antiseptic and lavender soap.

The doctor guided the catheter carefully—introducing the donor specimen, the real moment everything changed from theory to reality.

A quiet beep from a nearby monitor marked the moment.

“That’s it,” the doctor said softly. “The insemination is complete. Now you’ll rest for fifteen minutes before we have you sit up.”

Oliver opened his eyes slowly.

His palms were damp. His skin felt flushed.

But beneath all of that, there was a strange, low calm building like the tide coming in.

The doctor stepped out, leaving Oliver with the nurse.

She covered his legs with a warm blanket. “You did great,” she said.

Oliver let his head tip back against the cool wall behind him.

The more he thought about it, the steadier he felt.

The idea of noise. Of too many shoes at the door. Too many tiny jackets on too many hooks.

It wasn’t overwhelming anymore.

It felt right.

Fifteen minutes passed. The nurse returned, helped him sit up slowly.

“Make sure to take it easy today,” she reminded him. “You’ll have mild cramping. That’s normal.”

Oliver nodded, voice low but steady now. “Okay.”

She handed him a small envelope. Inside: care instructions. Contact numbers. His next appointment date.

And a card that read:

Seven to ten days. We’ll call to schedule your next appointment.

Oliver changed back into his clothes—each layer of fabric feeling heavier than before. Real. Solid.

When he stepped out into the bright hallway, the air felt different somehow.

Not just air.

The start of something new.

He wasn’t just waiting for his life to happen anymore.

Now, he was walking into it. One quiet, steady step at a time.