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“It is,” he says angrily, getting to his feet. “Jesus.”
“It’s not about him. I don’t think I have a future with him. But it is about the fact that he makes me feel wanted. He makes me feel cherished. And you don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I know things need to change. Come to Australia with me. We’ll go to Melbourne. You can study there. Let’s start over again. You, me, and the baby. Perhaps we’ll be able to make it work. But I can’t do it here. I don’t want you to see Henry anymore.”
“You’re making me choose?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I am. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?” He walks over to stand in front of me. “This is our baby. Mine and yours. For its sake, we should try to make it work, don’t you think?”
Oh God. This is so hard.
What am I going to do?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Henry
On Friday, I’m at home packing, ready to leave for my afternoon flight to Sydney, when my phone rings. My heart lifts as I see Juliette’s name on the screen. I haven’t spoken to her since last Saturday, and although we’ve messaged each other occasionally, it’s been far less frequent than normal. I know things are hard for her at home, so I’ve tried to give her space, but it’s been tough.
I answer the call with a mixture of emotions: pleasure, hope, and a touch of anxiety. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, sweetheart.” I put down the shirt I was about to pack and walk out onto the deck. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. Not too bad.”
“I’m glad you rang. I was wondering how you are. I’m guessing you’ve been busy.”
“Yes. Henry, I… I need to talk to you.”
I go still, and my heart seems to shudder to a stop. “Oh?”
She’s silent for a moment. Then she says, “I’m pregnant.”
Slowly, my heart collapses in on itself like a dying star.
I give a short, humorless laugh. “The one thing I can’t do for you. Fuck me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I run a hand through my hair. I’m having trouble breathing. My chest hurts. Ah, jeez, I think I’m having a fucking coronary.
“He… he wants me to move to Australia with him,” she says, her voice husky. “He says he thinks if we have a fresh start, maybe it’ll work out.”
He’s taking her away from me in every way he can.
GG, Cam. Good Game. You won. You motherfucking, cunting, shitting, pissing, fucking arsehole of a bastard.
“I hope you’ll be very happy,” I say.
Then, before I can think better of it, I draw my arm back and throw my phone as hard as I can. It sails away, turning in the air, and I watch it plummet down onto the rocks, where it breaks into a million pieces that scatter into the ocean.
“Fuck it!” I yell so hard it hurts my throat. Ah, bollocks, now I’m going to be hoarse for the conference. And I don’t have a phone.
I sink onto the wooden deck, my back against the window, draw up my knees, and put my head in my hands. Over the last few days, I’ve repeatedly told myself that I haven’t lost her. That it’s not too late. I’ve reassured myself that I was doing the right thing in giving her time and letting her come to the conclusion on her own that we were meant to be together.
I should have gone over to see her and dragged her back here by her fucking hair.
