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“No. That’s not how I see it. Those months between us were wonderful, and I would never let that be tarnished. I should never have said it. I’m so sorry.”

She sinks back onto the sofa. Her shoulders pull forwards, and she stares down at the floor.

Part of me wants to react with venom and stings, to throw her words back at her, that no, she shouldn’t have said it, and that her sorry means fuck all, that it will never mean anything to me. Except it does change things, even if only ever so slightly. That threat has lived rent-free in my head for the last two years. In my darkest hours—those where I’ve had too much alcohol and my resilience is low—they’ve driven me to distraction. It was never the idea of a scandal, of a sleazy newspaper running a headline about how, as a former teacher, I had an inappropriate relationship with a student. I wasn’t even afraid of judgement from people who knew me or afraid of seeing disappointment in the faces of my parents.

I was scared about how Maddie would react to that information.

The realisation and fear that she could see me as a predator who took advantage of Delilah, because there would be no way I could repair that judgement.

“I’m still angry with you, Delilah,” I warn. It’s an anger that burns in me with a blistering heat sometimes.

“I’m angry with myself, if that helps.”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” She glances at me as she says this, and I frown at her.

“I’m not at the stage of laughing and making jokes.”

“Yeah, I know. Do you think we can maybe reach a truce, for now? Everything is too high pressured. I’m sure there’s going to be a shitty, heavy conversation between us soon, one where you’ll call me every name under the sun and I’ll bear it because you’ll be right, but I don’t have the strength for it today, or to have constant snipes.”

When I look at her now, she reminds me so much of who she used to be when we first met. The vulnerability. The fear. The weight that presses down on her shoulders.

I also feel the reminder of who I used to be. How my first urge was always to make her world a little safer. How I always wanted to remove some of the barriers around her, and to lift her up.

It’s not enough to make me want to do anything reckless, not like I did back then. Back then, I would have reached out. Touched her. Held her hand. Pulled her closer to me so I could whisper that I would look after her. None of that is going to happen. Neither of us is stupid enough to be reckless, and there’s far too much for us to focus on. What I can do, though, is to agree to make things a little easier.

“We can call a truce,” I murmur.

Now, the tears that she’s clearly been fighting to hold back all morning are too much. They trickle down her face. All I can think about is the night she called me, desperate for help, when I picked her up and drove her to my house, watching the tears as they fell.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“So, how far along are you?” I ask, glancing at her baby bump.

“Twenty weeks. We had the second scan earlier in the week. Felix and Caleb are very excited, obviously. Even Maddie says she’s glad to have something to focus on. She keeps telling Felix and Caleb that she’ll be a willing babysitter,” she explains.

“Do you know what they’re having?” I ask. She smiles slightly at the use of “they’re.”

“I think that should be for Caleb and Felix to tell you,” she replies.

“You might need to tell Felix that we’ve agreed on a truce. I’m fairly sure he’s going to murder me before the end of the week.”

She sighs. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll be good, I promise.”

I hold up the book she gave me. “Thank you for this.”

“I know it isn’t much, and it doesn’t make up for anything, but….”

“I’ll look at it properly when I get home.”

She nods, still looking a little awkward and upset. “I guess it’ll give you something to look at as a distraction from the appointment tomorrow with the consultant.”

“Maybe I’ll save it for tomorrow, then, when I get back from the hospital.”

“Are you worried about the appointment?” she asks.

“Not really.”