“You researched everything. Hired a personal shopper. Made all the decisions.” She softens slightly. “Did you ask her what she wanted?”
“She said she didn’t know.”
“Because she’s scared, Ray.” Jessica folds the towel neatly before continuing. “You know what you’re doing. You’ve done this before. But she hasn’t.”
I stare down into my drink.
“She probably already feels out of her depth,” Jessica says gently. “And then she walks into Harrods and watches you take control of everything while she stands there feeling like an outsider.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know.” She pauses. “But intent and impact aren’t always the same thing.”
I exhale slowly.
“She’s carrying your child,” Jessica says quietly. “That’s huge. She needs to feel included. Supported. Not like she’s just . . .” She searches for the word carefully. “An incubator.”
My jaw tightens immediately. “That’s not how I see her.” But even as I say the words, my mind goes back to when she overheard me talking to Vinn.
“But maybe it’s how she feels.”
Silence stretches between us, because deep down, I know she’s right.
A small pair of footsteps suddenly patter back into the kitchen. Sebastian appears in the doorway holding something yellow in both hands.
“What’s this?” he asks curiously.
My eyes land on the tiny, knitted cardigan. The lemon one from the market.
Sebastian holds it up carefully. “Will the baby really be this small?”
Something in my chest shifts painfully. I take the cardigan from him slowly, staring down at the tiny sleeves. The tiny buttons.
Our baby will be this small.Defenceless.
And real. It’ll depend on us for everything.
And Wynter . . .
Jesus Christ.
Wynter is carrying that life right now while I bulldoze my way through everything thinking money and preparation are enough.
A sudden image flashes through my head of her standing quietly behind me in Harrods while I spoke over her.
Beside you or behind you?
The cardigan feels impossibly soft in my hands. And for the first time all day, I think I finally understand why she walked away.
An hour later, I’m sitting in my apartment office. The same email has been open on my laptop for the last ten minutes, unread while my mind replays every second of today.
Harrods. The market. The cardigan. Beside you or behind you?
A soft knock sounds against the door before it slowly opens and Wynter steps inside.
She looks exhausted. Not just tired but drained.
Her hair is in a messy bun just off centre, and her oversized cardigan is wrapped around her, with one shoulder slipping down as she closes the door quietly behind her.
