Next day—
We both take leave from work. No arguments, no "one more meeting." Just priority: baby.
First thing, Jiang pulls me to the couch and activates his wristband. Blue light scans over my stomach, soft and warm, like a careful breath. He watches the data with that scary-smart focus of his.
"Any antenna?" I ask.
"No," he says after a moment. "No foreign structures. No non-human markers detectable at this stage."
I relax. "Good. I really wasn't ready to explain that to a doctor."
He gives me a look. "If the baby grows antennae, I will handle it."
"Please don't erase my child," I warn.
"I said handle," he corrects seriously.
After that, we book a doctor's appointment. A real one. Human. Certified. No evil labs, no shady research centers.
Jiang calls his agency too. He doesn't explain—just says we need a private, secure escort. They don't ask questions. A black car shows up like it's routine.
Famous husband perks, I guess.
