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He sinks back into the chair. “You and I, we were having difficulties,” he adds, as if that makes everything okay.
“We were planning our wedding. Not much more civil than that,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, wondering how I got myself into this situation.
“I got cold feet. Can you blame a man? Marriage is a big step. But it’s one I’m willing to take now. We can get married this weekend. Go to a registry office. Stella and Nat can be our witnesses.”
He sits forward, excitement on his face at his suggestion.
Does the numpty not realise it takes at least four weeks to get a marriage licence? This isn’t the movies, but he gets a gold star for enthusiasm.
Instead of correcting him, I shake my head. “As I said before, we’re over.”
He leans forward, “But-”
I cut him off. “I’m pregnant.”
Vince sags back in his chair. “What? How? Who?”
“You know how,” I say. “As for who, it doesn’t matter.”
I desperately need to leave this place, go back to the office, and find comfort in Gabriel’s arms. Everything with him has been perfect, despite us only being together for a few months. He has never made any false promises. He has always been open and honest. Whatever our future is, it will be better than my past. I bet money on it.
“I don’t care,” he blurts out. “We can raise your baby together. I love you and I know you love me. The spare room is a nursery. It’s all ready and waiting.”
I stare at Vince open-mouthed.
“You’re willing to accept my child as your own?” I ask, intrigued and horrified in equal measure.
“Yes, if it means you’ll come back,” he says, his head nodding frantically like a bobbing dog.
“And the nursery is already set up?”
I repeat his words slowly, his head bobbing enthusiastically. How on earth did I stay with this man for ten years?
“It is. I have bought and prepared everything,” he says, sounding smug.
I stand up.
“Goodbye Vince. Please don’t ever contact me again. I wish you a nice life.”
I turn and head for the door, only stopping when a hand clamps around my upper arm.
I stare down at the offending limb.
“Let me go, Vince,” I say, shaking my arm.
But his hand remains firm.
“You are not walking away from me,” he hisses. “I deserve better than that.”
“No Vince, you don’t. I deserve better than you. You think I’ll accept being second choice? That I want a nursery that was decorated and chosen by the woman you left me for? I most definitely deserve better than that and always have. I suggest you look up housekeepers. You’ll find one who can fulfil your needs.”
My heart rate increases when his hand remains.
“When did you become such a bitch?” Vince spits, his eyes wide.
“When I realised being a doormat wasn’t conducive to my wants and needs.” My eyes drop to where his hand has tightened further on my bicep. “Sorry Vince, but I really need to leave now. I have a meeting to get back to.”
A man from a nearby table gets up and moves towards us.
