The day of the ultrasound arrived. Oliver barely slept the night before, he didn't know if he was excited or nervous.

The clinic smelled faintly sterile—clean cotton and something sharper beneath it, a mix of antiseptic and chilled air. Oliver checked in at the front desk, heart already hammering too loud in his chest, then sat down in one of the waiting room’s stiff plastic chairs.

His fingers tapped against his thigh. Slow, restless.

This was it. The confirmation.

A nurse called his name. “Oliver Reyes?”

He stood, stomach twisting, and followed her through a hall lined with pastel watercolor prints that didn’t do much to soften the nerves building under his skin.

The ultrasound room felt colder than the rest of the clinic.

Bright overhead lights, a machine quietly humming, a padded exam table covered with that thin, crinkly paper. Oliver swallowed hard.

“Go ahead and get comfortable,” the nurse said gently. “Shirt up, waistband down just a little.”

Oliver lay back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling tiles. His pulse thudded in his ears as he adjusted his clothes, feeling the paper gown scratch lightly against his skin.

A moment later, the door clicked as the doctor entered—a tall woman in blue scrubs with calm eyes.

“Good morning, Oliver,” she greeted him. “First ultrasound, right?”

“Yeah,” he managed, voice a little hoarse.

“Try to relax. Cold gel coming up.”

He flinched when the icy slickness hit his skin. A sharp breath in, a quiet laugh under his breath. “Never gets easier, does it?”

The doctor smiled faintly, glancing at the machine.

And then came the quiet.

The wand moved slowly over his lower stomach. The screen flickered, shades of gray and black shifting like static.

Oliver stared at it, waiting.

One second. Two. Three. Nothing clear yet.

His throat tightened.

“Is—” His voice broke. “Is everything okay?” Oh, god. Don't tell me it was a false positive. 

The doctor’s brows furrowed, focusing, moving the probe slightly. Her hand pressed down a little firmer.

Oliver’s heart felt like it might rip out of his chest.

False positive. Empty. Alone again.

Then—

A sharp beep, the flicker of movement on the screen.

And sound.

A steady, strong drumbeat.

Oliver’s breath caught.

It echoed loud in the room: thump-thump-thump. Fast, rhythmic.

But before he could fully register it, there was a second, overlapping pattern. Another beat.

Two distinct heartbeats.

His eyes widened.

“Is that…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The doctor smiled gently now, tapping a button on the machine.

“Twins,” she said. “You’re carrying twins, Oliver.”

His pulse rushed in his ears.

Twins.

Not just one. Two lives. Two heartbeats depending on me now.

Oliver stared at the blurry gray shapes on the monitor, not really understanding how something so small could already carry such weight.

“Are they…” His voice shook. “Are they healthy? Is that normal?”

“They look good so far. Strong heartbeats, good placement.”

The nurse handed Oliver a tissue to wipe the gel from his skin, but he barely noticed.

“I… I didn’t…” His laugh was breathless. “I don’t know if I’m ready for two.”

“That’s completely normal,” the doctor said calmly, wiping down the machine. “But we’ll walk you through everything.”

She pulled over a small tablet and began scrolling through notes. “Carrying multiples does come with extra monitoring. Higher nutritional needs. Increased chance of preterm labor. And yes, in cases like this, we generally recommend planning for a cesarean birth.”

Oliver swallowed hard, sitting up slightly. The paper crinkled beneath him.

“There’s also a slightly higher risk of complications like restricted growth or, in rare cases, stillbirth—especially if nutritional intake isn’t optimal. But that’s why we monitor closely.”

Stillbirth. The word hit like a slap.

But then Oliver exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

He wasn’t someone who ignored the risks. He wasn’t going into this blind.

And he wasn’t backing out now.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said quietly. “Vitamins, checkups, all of it.”

The doctor nodded, setting a printed copy of the ultrasound image beside him.

“Good,” she said. “You’ve already made the big decision. Now it’s about following through, one step at a time.”

Oliver stared down at the printout in his hand—two pale shapes surrounded by shadow, marked with tiny arrows and numbers.

Two.

He pressed the paper flat against his palm, feeling its coolness.

Double the love I'll give. Oliver smiled.

The fear wasn’t gone. Probably wouldn’t ever completely disappear.

But underneath it now was something steadier: determination.

He wasn’t walking out of this clinic the same man who had walked in.

When he stood, smoothing down his shirt, he caught his own reflection in the dark monitor screen—soft and slightly pale, but with eyes that felt clearer somehow.

Whatever came next, he was ready.

Or as ready as anyone could be when hearing two heartbeats for the first time.

The first wave of nausea didn’t hit Oliver until the second morning after his ultrasound.

It wasn’t dramatic—no movie-scene vomiting or collapsing over a toilet. Just a slow, creeping unease that started low in his stomach and rose like a tide while he stirred his tea.

He pushed the mug aside and leaned both hands on the counter, breathing through it.

“This is real,” he murmured to himself. “Okay.”

The clinic had warned him about morning sickness, but somehow knowing didn’t make the actual sensation any less strange.

From that day on, the symptoms rolled in steadily—not all at once, but layered through his days like unexpected background noise. Some mornings were worse than others. Some nights he’d wake up dizzy, lightheaded, shoving back his sheets and stumbling toward the bathroom just in case.

His feet started swelling first. The slight ache around his bunions by the third week was enough to make him kick off his house slippers before noon most days. He learned quickly to keep a cold water bottle by the bed, to move slower when he stood up too fast.

And in the middle of all that, Oliver focused his energy on building a new routine.

He wasn’t leaving everything up to luck. Not with two heartbeats counting on him now.

By the fourth morning, he was already back at his laptop—sitting at the dining table, tea half-finished next to his phone, browsing remote job boards.

Remote administrative work. Virtual assistant services. Contract positions.

The listings blurred together after a while: data entry, customer support, email management. Some sounded too good to be true. Others felt more realistic, but overwhelming in their own way.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temple.

He still technically had his old job—a steady admin position at a real estate company—but he knew this couldn’t last forever. Once his bump grew larger, once the twins arrived, clocking into an office would no longer be realistic.

This is about building something steady. For them. For me.

He grabbed his phone, thumb scrolling through contacts until he landed on an old coworker: Naomi.

She picked up after two rings. “Oliver? Hey, I wasn’t expecting—” He felt bad about interrupting her but he needed to sort out his situation first.

“Sorry to call out of the blue,” he said, voice scratchier than usual. “I… I’m looking for work-from-home leads. Virtual assistant stuff. Do you know anyone hiring?”

There was a pause.

“Actually,” Naomi said slowly, “I might. My cousin’s company is looking for remote VAs. Email sorting, appointment scheduling, that kind of thing. Want me to text you her info?”

“Please.”

After they hung up, Oliver sat quietly for a while, feeling both relieved and strange.

It wasn’t just about a job anymore. It was about creating a life that fit this new version of himself: Oliver Reyes, soon-to-be father of twins.

—

The days settled into a rhythm after that.

By the second week, Oliver’s appetite came back in waves—craving bland things like toast one moment, or sharp citrus the next. There were days when he’d eat two full breakfasts and others where plain crackers felt like too much.

His ankles ached in the evenings. By then, he’d learned to prop his feet up against the couch cushions, scrolling through job contracts and organizing files on his laptop while music played quietly in the background.

The VA work came through faster than he expected. Naomi’s cousin emailed back within three days, setting him up with onboarding documents and a flexible schedule.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady. Exactly what he needed.

This is the start of something real.

—

By the third week, Oliver’s reflection caught him by surprise.

It happened late at night, after washing his face—he looked up and saw himself fully for the first time since all this had started.

Not just his eyes or his hands, but all of him.

He stood there for a long moment, towel in one hand, studying the way his body was already shifting.

His dark brown eyes looked the same: steady, calm but thoughtful beneath slightly arched brows. His hair—dark and just wavy enough to stay messy no matter how often he brushed it—fell across his forehead.

But below that…

His skin had taken on a softer glow. His lower abdomen, once flat and lean, now showed the faintest curve. Barely visible, but there. His body wasn’t just his own anymore.

Fingers traced along his ribs, resting lightly at his waist.

It’s happening. I’m really… changing.

Oliver let the towel drop to the sink and pressed his hand against his stomach, eyes still locked on the mirror.

It wasn’t fear that filled him, looking at himself now.

It was a quiet, steady kind of peace.

And beneath it, something warmer—hope.

This is mine. My life. My choice. My babies.

Oliver smiled, just a little, before turning off the light and stepping back into the quiet of his apartment.

Tomorrow would bring new things—maybe more swelling, more dizziness, more files to sort for clients.

But for tonight, standing in the dark with both hands resting against his stomach, Oliver felt ready.