I start counting in my head, convinced I waited the right amount of time. “I think I waited nine and a half,” I say, defeated.
“Pippa, are you all right?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. “You’ve wanted to have kids for a long time.”
“Yeah.” She would know all about it. Ever since I first got married, I’ve dreamed about the day I would be a mother. I hug my knees tightly to me, processing it. My eyes are misty. Damn it, I have to stop crying.
“I know you and Terence are divorced,” she says quickly, my sobs clearly not going unnoticed. “And I’m not sure if you’re in a relationship, but don’t be discouraged. There is a lot of support for single mothers.”
“I’m happy about the baby. These are happy tears.” But I’m also hurt and afraid. “Can I call you back later?”
“Sure. You should make an appointment with the gynecologist as well.”
“I will,” I assure her, before hanging up.
I lie on the couch, hugging a pillow, curling around it. A baby. I break out in sobs and, too tired to fight them, I give in. I’m not even entirely sure why I’m crying. Gritting my teeth, I steel myself. I know the kind of man Eric is. He won’t turn his back on me.
But what if he will? What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him? An old fear wakes inside me, and the memory of the dreadful night that marked the end of my marriage rushes back to me.
***
I’d been feeling faint and my period was late. I thought I was pregnant and was so ecstatic on the way to the pharmacy, where I bought five tests. I’ve always wanted a big family, like my own. Whenever I brought up the subject of kids to Terence, he put it off, saying we were still young, that we didn’t have to hurry. But I did want to hurry. I wanted my little bundle of joy. Selfishly, I also hoped our unborn child would save our marriage. At the very least, I hoped it’d make the evenings Terence didn’t spend at home less lonely. There was only so often I could spend my evenings with friends or family. They had lives of their own.
When I arrived home, Terence was in a rage. Then again, he was lately always in a rage. He never hit me, but our arguments were vicious. He froze when he saw the bag in my hands. The package was visible through the near-transparent plastic bag.
“What’s that?”
“Pregnancy tests.”
“We use protection,” he said incredulously. “We always use protection.”
“Yes, but nothing’s 100% safe, and I’ve been unwell. Plus, I
didn’t get my period this month.”
“You’re not pregnant.” His tone sent chills down my spine, but still I smiled, trying to ease the tension.
“We’ll find out soon, right?” I held up the bag, smiling like an idiot. “I know you think we’re not ready, but—”
“Are you trying to trap me? I don’t want a child with you,” he spat, taking a step back from me. “All I want is to do my ten years and get the hell away.”
I will always remember those words, that precise moment when my world snapped. Do my ten years. It sounded like a prison sentence. In that moment, I realized that was exactly what our marriage was for him. I just hadn’t realized all of it.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“After ten years, the prenup will be void.”
“The money,” I whispered, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You want the money.”
I had imagined many scenarios of why he resented me. The most plausible one was that he was not feeling like a man because I earned more. That’s why Sebastian and Logan set up a company for him. Yet here it was, the simple truth. He’d married me for my money, and gradually he realized that ten years is a long time to spend faking love.
The pain in my chest was so strong it felt as if someone had sliced it open with a knife. I could barely breathe, or even stand, but I knew what I had to do.
“Get out of my sight. Take your things and leave,” I said. “Better still, just leave. I will send your things.”
“Pippa….” He advanced toward me, raising his arm as if to touch my shoulder.
“Don’t you dare touch me. Leave.”
“I want to know if you’re pregnant first.”