I laugh loudly. Trust Cam to bring the topic back to her. We chat a little longer before we say our goodbyes. I drop my phone back into my purse, hitching it higher on my shoulder when something farther down the street catches my eye.
A family. A husband, I assume, and his wife. She has a toddler balanced high on her hip, the husband wearing one of those baby carriers, the tiny bundle dangling from his chest. On any day this might tug the strings to my heart’s desire.My longings.But today, all I feel is panic.
‘Chastity. H-how are you?’
I realise I haven’t moved from my spot outside of the boutique doorway. Stupid.Stupid!I should’ve turned and walked the other way. At a decent pace.
‘Miles. How are you?’ I’m surprised how even my voice sounds. Surprised and grateful.
‘Have you met Helena, my wife?’
‘No.’ I send her a quick smile as we murmur our respective hellos, the tow-headed toddler she holds on her hip wriggling to the ground.
‘And this is Isobel,’ he says, smiling happily down at the gurgling bundle in his baby bag thing. ‘And this wriggling fellow is Freddie. Say hello to the lady, Freddie.’
I suddenly want to be sick. Freddie. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he want to hurt me? And “the lady?” Is that what I am these days? I’m not the woman you used to like to fuck while you pulled her hair and called her bad names?
The tow-headed tot ignores him completely, trying to pull free from his mother’s hand. That’s right, Freddie, you ignore your daddy because you can tell what a twat he is already. I do the right thing—make the right noises about their family. Smile, even if it doesn’t reach my eyes.
‘Isobel, oh, how sweet. What a gem.’Two children, a marriage, and a receding hairline.‘And Freddie, such a lovely name ... how old is he?’
‘One and a half,’ his mother says, smiling down at him as he picks his nose. A habit he has in common with his father, then.
I do the math in my head. Eighteen months plus nine months, plus at least six months for a whirlwind romance.Thirty-three months. Less than three years. What have I done in three years?
I blink, my throat suddenly tight. I’ve made a home, started a business, and those are important things—achievements—things to be proud of. But nothing quite like bringing new life into the world. My heart suddenly aches for what could have been, for whatwas,even if for a short time. Not that the lack of physical presence ever really took the ache away.
Less than four years ago, I lost a little piece of me. A surprise, you might say, though welcome all the same. I housed her in my body for a little while and almost as soon as she arrived, she was gone. I sayher, but that’s just a feeling I had.And this man in front of me? The man so full of his own blessings? He held my hand as I was wheeled into surgery. He promised me I’d be okay. That we’d have other children.
Well, at least one of us has.
Surgery left me with more than just physical scars.
I built a business. Made a home. Adopted new friends. And never really got over my loss. And in the face of his golden love, I want to slit his throat and dance in his guts.
Does that make me evil?
Good, because evil is better than tears.
