I couldn’t decide who was more dramatic—her or me. Almost all four of her children and grandchildren came for Sunday dinner every single week. Beneath her sharp exterior was a big, soft heart, but seeing half the things they dealt with—the side comments, the looks, the tired kind of disrespect—I understood her need to keep a little distance.
Nahla’s chaos kept me sane, because for the last five months I hadn’t been able to bring myself to hate Laurent. Some nights I lay in bed, listening to the distant traffic, wondering if I’d done right by my baby to exclude its father from our lives. But by daylight, I came to my senses.
That was crazy talk, right?
?? ?? ??
I’d learned to tighten my budget and invested in a small chest freezer. I bought frozen meat, fish, fruit, and vegetables—it was cheap and nutritious. The fact that I hadn’t gone for any of my check-ups or scans always sat at the back of my mind. Laurent had money, and if my name ever got flagged through my NHS number, he could easily find me. Since clearing out my bank account, I’d never used it again.
By staying cautious—and a little paranoid—I’d managed to keep off his radar. No television, no license, no internet or streaming subscriptions; second-hand books were my only entertainment. My pay-as-you-go phone was registered under my new name, Lucy Heart. Not very creative, but it did the job.
I stretched my wages to cover rent and food, and still managed to put a little aside for when the baby came. Luckily, utilities were included with my room. The bulk of my savings would go on baby basics and rent once I couldn’t work. Finances were tight, but it was a life I could live with.
His offer of a monthly allowance, spare bedroom, and co-parenting could go to hell. The more I thought about raising my child in his cold, controlled environment, the more it turned my stomach.
I blinked my tears away. The child inside me had never healed. All I’d ever wanted was to be loved, to belong. But no matter how poor I was, or how difficult things got, there wouldn’t be a single day my child didn’t hear the wordsI love you.
I sat up and reached for a tissue.
No time for tears.
It was my day off, and time to scour the charity shops for baby things.
?? ?? ??
The city centre was busy, but I enjoyed the quiet ride on the bus and the bustle when I got off. My day was planned: shops, a café, and more shops. The grey skies and drizzle couldn’t dampen my mood. The reassuring movement in my belly kept me calm as I wandered through the streets.
Carlisle was both stunning and serene. On my days off, I made good use of a hop-on, hop-off bus ticket, exploring the city’s beauty. At seven months pregnant, it wasn’t quite as easy now, but I stayed active by walking to and from work. It didn’t help my ass situation, though.
I pushed open the door to my favourite charity shop.
“Oh, Lucy’s here, Doris!” Eileen called out, stepping forward to greet me.
“Morning, Eileen,” I said with a grin.
The wooden beads at the doorway clattered as Doris came rushing out.
“We kept these aside for you,” she said, holding up a basket full of baby blankets, bedding, and clothes. “Some of them still have the labels on.”
“We thought you could have first pick before we put them out,” Eileen added.
Their excitement was palpable. I nodded, unable to speak.
It really did take a village.
?? ?? ??
I clutched the large bag against my belly and chest, enjoying the lull of the coach ride home. There was quiet chatter and soft laughter around me. My life had slowed down, finally giving me time to reflect.
At first, I missed Evelyn, Allison, and the city while I adjusted to my new surroundings and my miniature home. My last few weeks with Laurent had been full of planning and avoidance. There hadn’t been much time to think ahead.
But when I thought of him now—the cold, calculating man—I felt only pity. Laurent Dubois might have been a billionaire, but he was the poorest man on earth when it came to living and loving. He wanted a family on his terms. That wasn’t how life, or people, worked.
He’d have to find someone else.
Someone more suited to his way of life.
Transactional.
