The blow landed soundlessly, but it shook the floor beneath him. He slid from his chair, kneeling before her. “The baby...”
Helen nodded.
His arms wrapped around her automatically as he pulled her into his chest, nuzzling her hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Truly. Are you alright? My mother always said women can fall terribly ill when...”
“I was feeling unwell for a few days. But I’m better now.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head, slow and hopeless. Then, her voice came softly, “At least now you don’t have to ask. We can forget this whole thing happened.”
He froze.
She was still in his arms, but the words rang like she’d shoved him across the room. He wanted to believe she meantsomething else—anything else—but she was looking at him like she’d already let go.
“Why do you keep saying that?” His voice was quiet—but hard.
Helen stiffened. “Saying what?”
“That we don’t have a reason to marry anymore.” His volume was rising fast, past the point of self-control. “I still intend to marry you. Or did that not register the first ten times I said it?”
“I never said I didn’t—”
“You’ve said everything but!” He released her and stood, pacing. “Every time you bring it up, it’s like you’re waiting for me to take it back! What exactly do you think I’m here for, Helen, a tea party?”
Her voice cracked. “I never saidthat!”
“You didn’t have to!”
She stood, and now they were both shouting.
He caught her wrist before she could storm past him. “Why’d you say the reason is gone, then? Why did it sound like relief?”
She stared at him, horrified. “How can you say that?”
“It’s true!” he snapped. “You don’t want to be bound to a man who sleeps in a shared room and can’t afford socks without pocket money from his parents! And now that you’re not carrying his child, you’re free, aren’t you?”
“No, Nic!” she shouted, tears returning. “I’m relieved for you! No more obligation! You don’t have to tie your future to me out of pity or honor!”
That hit him harder than the loss, like she had thrown a hammer through a pane of glass. “Obligated,” he repeated softly. “You really think that’s what I’ve been doing?”
“I know what kind of man you are. You wouldn’t walk away. You’d shoulder the weight and pretend it was never heavy.”
His hands curled into fists. He didn’t yell again. He didn’t trust his voice not to splinter.
He folded his arms, jaw clenched, and studied her as though she were a stranger. Maybe the reason she couldn’t believe he loved her was because she didn’t love him back. Not enough to imagine a life together that wasn’t forced by circumstance.
His skin itched with dried sweat and frustration. He could smell the training field on himself and the bitterness building like grit behind his teeth. They were going to keep tearing into each other. Circling the same wound until neither of them could stand.
“I need to go,” he said at last. His voice flat and drained.
He looked at her—really looked—but didn’t step closer.
She was crying again, and he should have gone to her. Should have held her, or said something soft to fix what broke between them. But he couldn’t.
Not tonight.
“We’re called in early tomorrow.”
