With my wife sleeping metres away from me.
Fuck, it was so hard seeing her.
The number of times my fingers itched to reach for her, to drop to my knees and kiss her stomach, to tell our baby that Daddy was home. Or how I wanted to hold her while she slept, so she felt safe and protected.
I’d watched her sleep before I’d woken her, and I’d almost lost it. She’d twitched in her sleep, her brows drawn into a frown despite dreaming. The way her hair?—
God, I needed to stop this. It wasn’t healthy. I wanted her back, but she couldn’t stand me.
But one step at a time—I was now in the same house as her. It was pathetic how much that mattered to me.
I gazed at the cars as they passed me, which made me miss my truck even more. I’d never felt like such a waste of fucking space as I did right now—catching buses and working two jobs on no sleep at my age was absurd.
Sleep. I missed that too, but tomorrow was Sunday, which meant I could sleep all day if I wanted to. Lila would probably prefer it if I did, then she wouldn’t have to see me.
I checked the bus times on my phone again, annoyed that one still hadn’t turned up. Did they realize people relied on them to get to work?
For fuck’s sake.
My boots rubbed my feet, irritating the blisters that seemed to have always been there. My shoulders ached. But at least I had tomorrow off.
Lila.
Every time I thought about something—anything—that wasn’t her, my mind dragged her back to the forefront. We hadthe scan on Tuesday, when she was twelve weeks along. I could hardly wait to see our baby—our baby, Jesus—on a screen.
The little heartbeat. The shape of it. My chest ached at the thought. I dragged up the pregnancy app I’d downloaded on my phone and searched for pregnancy symptoms for Lila’s stage.
Irritation. Huh, I thought that was just the effect I had on her. Apparently, it was to do with the surge in hormones, not her cheating husband.
I sighed.
Mood swings. Nausea. Sore breasts. Heartburn.
God, poor Lila.
I never wanted her to go through this without me, and I couldn't be further away if I tried. I wanted to give her massages and run her baths, make her chamomile tea and carry shit for her.
I didn’t want her to lift a finger.
The app told me our baby was the size of a plum and was fully formed.
My heart skipped a beat at the thought.
Our baby.
According to the app, Lila’s symptoms should start to ease soon. That was good.
A bus finally appeared in my line of vision, its headlights temporarily blinding me.
I boarded the bus and slumped into a seat, closing my eyes for a second. Teenagers screamed with laughter from the back of the bus—of course, it was Saturday night, they must be going somewhere.
I couldn't even remember what I did at that age.
The bus driver slammed on his brakes suddenly, and I was jolted forward, almost flying into the seat in front of me.
“Damn!” someone muttered from behind me, and we all glanced at each other like you do when you’re strangers thrustinto a situation like this. My eyes met those of an old lady, and she gave me a sympathetic smile.
“We can’t catch a break, even on the bus.”
