“Are you free for a coffee?” she asks, her smile unsure.
My heart stutters hard in my chest.She’s asking me.
I nod before I can overthink it, swinging off the bike and tucking my helmet under my arm.
Inside, I take a seat at the table while she potters around the kitchen, the familiar domesticity almost undoing me.
She sets the mugs down and nods towards hers. “Decaf,” she says. “The one thing I miss is caffeine.”
I smile, lifting my cup. “That’s a big sacrifice for you, giving up the one thing you genuinely lived for.”
“Right?” She laughs softly. “It’s weird how you’ll suddenly change anything and everything the second you find out you’re going to be a parent.”
I nod, unsure if she’s digging at me or just making a comment.
She sits opposite, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Earlier, you said, and I quote, ‘Everyone keeps telling me I have to let you lead. Make the decisions.’ What did you mean by that?”
Panic flares in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I can’t quite come up with an answer that lets me avoid it, so I go with the truth.
“I decided to get some help,” I admit quietly. Her eyes stay on me, and she doesn’t interrupt. “At first, it was because I wanted to support you. To understand how to be there without saying the wrong thing.” A humourless breath leaves me. “Because I keep saying or doing the wrong thing.”
I swallow and keep going.
“But the woman I spoke to told me about a group they run. It’s mixed, but mostly men. Learning how to support survivors, partners, families.” I give a short, bitter laugh. “I feel like a fraud even saying that. I’m not really either of those things anymore.”
She doesn’t correct me.
“I haven’t dealt with what happened,” I continue, my voice low. “I know it happened to you. I know that. But there’s this pain,” I tap my chest, right over my heart, “right here. And since the day I found out, it’s been twisting, growing, eating away at me.”
I drag in a breath, my gaze fixed on the table. “I thought working more would help. Ignoring it, burying myself in shit that didn’t matter.” My jaw tightens. “All it did was turn me into a pathetic excuse for a man.”
I finally look up. She’s watching me carefully, but her expression isn’t angry.
“I should have stayed,” I say. The words hurt coming out. “I should’ve sat with you in the dark. Let you be quiet. Let you be angry. Let you be whatever you needed. But I should’ve stayed in all those moments and held your hand.”
My throat burns.
“Instead, I walked away. I shut down. I pretended it didn’t happen. Pushed it out my head. And I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t even know if I can.” I shake my head slowly. “But going to that group, it’s so I don’t become him again. So I don’t turn into the kind of man who leaves when shit gets tough.”
I meet her eyes, steady despite the fear.
“I can’t change what happened or the fallout from it. I can’t take away the pain you feel from the attack and from how I handled it. But I can change how I show up from this moment on, and how I show up in the future. For you. For the baby.”
I fall silent, hands clenched around my mug like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
She doesn’t speak straight away.
She wraps her hands tighter around her mug, staring into it like the answer might be hiding in the dark surface. I brace myself, shoulders tight, ready for anger. For tears. For her to tell me I’m too late.
Instead, she exhales slowly.
“I didn’t need you to fix me,” she says at last.
I nod once, because she’s right.
“I needed you to stay,” she continues quietly. “Even when I didn’t know how to explain what was wrong. Even when I didn’t want to be touched. Or talked to. Or looked at.” She lifts her eyes to mine, and I see the tired honesty shining in them. “I needed you to love me when I thought I was unlovable.”
My jaw clenches with emotions I’m desperately holding back.
