his skin off with their accuracy. ‘Conceived in haste, every single one of them. Story of your life. Well, I don’t want to be a part of it any more, of the carefully constructed illusion of reality you fool yourself with every day,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ll work my notice, once Jem’s better, but then I’m off, Nick, and you won’t hear from me again. It’s better that way.’
Was it? He wasn’t sure. He was suddenly filled with a cold, nameless fear for the future—a future without Kate, and without the boy, this last, unacknowledged and yet still infinitely precious child who, it seemed, he’d managed to love in spite of everything.
He sat beside her, the chairs so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body, feel the air move with every shallow breath as her chest rose and fell.
‘I thought you wanted me to be in his life?’
‘I do—but not like this, giving him fragments of yourself from time to time. He deserves more from you.’ Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I can’t do this any more, Nick. I’m leaving, and that’s an end to it. Please. Just let me go.’
Let me go…
He held her eyes, watched the threatening tears well, watched in despair as one slipped down her cheek and fell to the floor. She never cried. Before today, the last time he’d seen her cry had been the night he’d taken her into his arms and held her. The night Jeremiah had been conceived.
Swallowing the bitter taste of regret, he stood up and turned away.
How could he let her go?
He couldn’t—but how could he make her stay?
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