Vergil was sure that his partner had at some point carried his child: she had not been bleeding for a long time, nor had there been any cramps in her lower abdomen, she had been sick for several days in a row for no reason, forcing her to spend hours closer to the toilet, and her breasts could not be touched due to increased sensitivity. The half-demon stepped back, watching the situation closely.

"It is stupid to deny that there is a reason to go to the doctor."

And here they were together in the ultrasound room, the doctor applied sensors to your stomach, burning the soft area with cold, and concentrated on the screen, where the scan results began to appear. Vergil also stared mindlessly at the monitor, as if he could really make out something, a frowning crease lay on his forehead, and light crow's feet walked at the corners of his heavenly eyes. "I recommend that you visit an endocrinologist," the doctor briefly pronounced her verdict, printing out the images and filling in the data in the patient's card. Symptoms of pregnancy were observed, but there was no hint of a fetus in any corner of the uterus or outside the organ.

Already in the corridor, the half-demon, holding you tightly by the shoulders next to him, looked at the records, as if inadvertently not allowing his partner to look at the papers. His silence fell heavily on both of them, overturning the jolts of noise from passers-by. He glanced at you briefly, notes of excitement, even panic, broke through the usual veil of firmness and seriousness. The half-demon was sincerely alarmed in the depths of his soul by the possible storm of emotions that was approaching by the minute, but he was ready to withstand the black clouds, no matter what it took.