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He told me that he doesn’t want Robert, that he loves me and that he wants a future with me…. but actions speak louder than words.
I keep hearing his voice as it cracked last night. He was so hurt by Robert’s admission of love.
And if he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t have affected him the way it did.
I have this sinking feeling, and as much as I hate to admit it but I don’t know if he would still be here if the pregnancy wasn’t hanging over us. I close my eyes, it’s too painful to comprehend.
I’m dreading being pregnant… but I’m dreading not being pregnant more.
If I’m pregnant, he’s trapped. If I’m not,…. he’s free to go… to him.
My eyes well with tears at the thought.
I feel sick to my stomach and have thrown up twice.
I get a vision of him and Robert living happily ever after, and me, alone and brokenhearted.
Ten years. Ten years of love and friendship. It’s a lot to lose.
I angrily wipe my tears away. Stop being so negative. It’s going to be fine.
He loves me—I know he loves me—but, deep down, I know he loves Robert, too. I put my head into my hands in sadness.
It isn’t supposed to be like this. I’m thirty-one years old and I feel like an insecure teenager, scared that my douche of a boyfriend wants somebody else.
But then the sad reality sets in. My boyfriend isn’t a douchebag. He’s a beautiful man who I am deeply in love with.
Is his heart aching for someone else?
My chest constricts, how would I recover from this…if… .
The key turns in the door, and my heart somersaults in my chest. Nathan comes into view and gives me a lopsided smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I stand and go to him. He kisses me on the cheek before he brushes past me.
My heart drops at his cold demeanour.
He rattles through his briefcase and produces a brown paper bag. He pulls out a pregnancy test and holds it out for me.
“Can you take this, please?”
I stare at his haunted face as more hope about us is lost. I just want to howl to the moon. “Sure.” I take it from him and walk into the bathroom.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears.
I lock the bathroom door and open the box. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve so I can try and read the blurred instructions.
How can he be so cold?
I pee on the stick, and before I look at the result, I walk back out into the living room and I pass it to him.
We stare at each other for a moment, and I screw up my face in tears.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers.
“How can I not?” I sob. “Look at how you’re treating me.”
“I’m just… we?
