Diego let out a short, nasal bark of laughter. He stepped around the cart, planting his heavy leather boots beside the rolling console, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the eighteen-inch high-resolution monitor.
“What am I supposed to be looking at, Laura?” Diego sneered, pointing a gloved finger at the central pixelated gray mass. “A six-week embryo? An eight-week fetus? Go ahead, Doctor. Tell me the gestational age. Tell me it’s seven weeks along—right in the middle of that weekend she spent in Chicago visiting her sister while I was recovering from bilateral vasectomy surgery with ice packs on our couch.”
Dr. Salinas did not look up at him. She adjusted the frequency knob on the console with her left hand, increasing the acoustic gain.
“Mr. Diego,” Dr. Salinas said, her eyes locked on the moving pixel field. “If your wife were seven weeks pregnant, the gestational sac would measure approximately twenty-two millimeters, and we would be visualizing an early embryonic pole with rudimentary limb buds.”
Dr. Salinas tapped the trackball, drawing three digital calipers across the screen.
*BEEP.*
The digital overlay on the right-hand margin recalculated the biometric indices in bright yellow text:
“`
# ==================================================================
METROPOLITAN OBSTETRIC FORENSICS // CLINICAL REPORT
# PATIENT: LAURA MENDOZA-VAZQUEZ (AGE: 34)
CLINICAL INDICATION: FIRST TRIMESTER GESTATIONAL DATING
CROWN-RUMP LENGTH (CRL): NOT APPLICABLE
BIPARIETAL DIAMETER (BPD): 38.4 mm (PERCENTILE: 51%)
FEMUR LENGTH (FL): 24.1 mm (PERCENTILE: 49%)
ABDOMINAL CIRCUMFERENCE (AC): 118.2 mm
ESTIMATED GESTATIONAL AGE: 17 WEEKS, 2 DAYS (+/- 4 DAYS)
ESTIMATED DATE OF CONCEPTION: NOVEMBER 4, 2025
STATUS: SINGLETON ACTIVE FETUS // MORPHOLOGY NORMAL
“`
The rhythmic *thump-thump, thump-thump* of the heartbeat seemed to drop an octave, vibrating through the metal frame of the bed.
Diego stared at the yellow letters.
His brow furrowed. His lips parted, then closed again.
“Seventeen… weeks?” Diego muttered, his eyes darting from the screen to the doctor’s name badge, then to the calendar pinned to the bulletin board beside the sink. “That’s… that’s a software malfunction. That’s impossible. November? She didn’t test positive until two weeks ago! She showed me the test two weeks ago!”
“Pregnancy tests detect urinary human chorionic gonadotropin,” Dr. Salinas stated with clinical detachment, wiping the transducer across my skin to bring up the profile of a fully formed miniature spine, complete with tiny, interlocking vertebrae illuminated in sharp, chalk-white clarity. “In cases of cryptic implantation, irregular luteal bleeding, or atypical placental hormone release, a patient can carry a viable pregnancy for months without registering standard urinary concentrations on retail immunoassays.”
