Chapter 21
Elizabeth
I try to focus, but the words won’t come.
Bear curls up beside my feet, sensing my restless energy. I absentmindedly reach down to stroke him, drawing comfort from the small, warm, loyal life at my side.
I let the sound of the ocean crashing outside fill my mind. I close my eyes and listen, breathe it in. My book suddenly comes to life, the story echoing my own tangled heart. I pour every fragment of pain, hope, and longing into the pages, writing characters who dance on the edge of love and loss.
Over the days and weeks, as the leaves outside change and the trees shed their beauty, my writing becomes my refuge and my torment. Bear becomes my quiet companion, constantly by my side. When I stop writing for a moment to sit on the porch, I just stare out at the dark horizon.
The days stretch long, and the silence after Theo’s departure feels heavier than anything I could possibly put on a page.
He doesn’t contact me, and I don’t contact him.
He is gone. I know it now. There’s a gaping hole in my life, one that had always been there before but never been so present, so bleak.
I find myself replaying every moment we have ever had together. The chats in the coffee shop, the first time he turned up at my front door with cake, every touch, every kiss, every intimate moment, every whispered confession in the dark.
“Why am I not enough?” I whisper, my voice cracking in the empty room. My emotions are exhausted.
Bear, ever faithful, rests his head on my lap as I stare out of the window. If he could have spoken, he would have reminded me I am not alone. He is right there with me.
I find myself waiting for a call, a text, a sign that he may return. The only thing I hear is the crashing of the waves in the distance, a reminder of the life I long for but can’t yet grasp.
As I pour myself deeper into my book, I spend most of my days at home in my pyjamas.
I can feel the darkness surrounding my thoughts.
I start to believe that I can’t possibly live without him.
Over the next few days, a bone-deep exhaustion settles into me.
I can feel nausea writhing around in my stomach.
Food loses its appeal, and I live on herbal tea and coffee.
James keeps coming by to check on me. He turns up at my door with a home cooked meal, some freshly baked croissants and dog biscuits.
Some days I open the door. Other days he leaves food on my porch while I hide in the cottage, pretending that I don’t hear him.
He deserves so much more than that from me; I just can’t give it to him.
As weeks pass, things start to happen that I am unable to connect.
A headache that powers through me today stops me in my tracks, only cured by a cold cloth in a dark room.
As the ache begins to subside, I make my way slowly to the kitchen to make toast. The smell of butter and strawberry jam thick in the air when I stop suddenly.
Pressing my hand to my stomach, I am met with a ripple of nausea that rolls through me like a wave.
So much more intense than I had previously been experiencing.
I grip onto the kitchen side and brace myself, waiting for it to pass.
Bear barks at me softly, concern etched into every sound. I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead and laugh it off.
“Maybe the milk’s gone bad,” I say weakly to him, but the next morning there it is again.
And the day after that, even the thought of coffee turns my stomach.
The idea of it making me gag and the smell has me running for the toilet.
My head throbs and my chest aches in a way that isn’t just emotional.
On my walk with Bear, I reluctantly call James.
“James, I think I’m sick. If you have time, are you able to pop by today and just check me over?
” Without hesitation, he asks about my symptoms and runs through a list of questions I’m not entirely sure are even relevant.
An hour later, I arrive home with James waiting for me, leaning against my fence, a plastic bag in hand.
“I don’t need to come in, but you should think about trying one of these.” He hands me the bag, and I open it to see what’s inside. There staring back at me are four boxes of different pregnancy tests. A cold wave of panic rushes through me.
No.
No, it can’t be that. I look up at him, embarrassment creeping up my neck.
“I’m here if you need me.” He gives me a look filled with care.
I hurry inside with the bag of tests in hand.
I throw my coat on the floor and head straight to the bathroom, unable to wait another minute.
Two minutes. That’s as long as I have to wait.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at my reflection, pale and uncertain.
I know we have been careful. I had made sure of it. I am on the pill. Had I missed one?
I pee on the stick and place it on the side, then run to my bedroom drawer to look at my pill case.
I can’t remember if I have been taking it correctly.
He always wore a condom too. Except… there were a couple of times.
The night Theo said he had missed me, and we hadn’t even made it to the bed or the night in the Savoy bathtub…
The two minute alarm rings out on my phone, making me jump.
My body is so tense. My jaw is aching from clenching so hard.
I glance down at the test on the side of the sink and lose my breath.
There it is. In all its glory are two pink lines.
I pick it up and stare at it, unsure what to do.
My hands are shaking and I can’t steady myself. I have no idea how long I stand there.
I shut my eyes tightly.
Not now. Please… not this.
I pull on my coat and struggle to clip Bear’s lead back onto his collar. I can’t control the trembling. I need air. I need clarity. Need a friend.
James is on the trail behind the shops, tying his shoelace. He looks up, sensing me before I speak. He gives me a soft smile, one with a slight question in it. My expression must say far more than I intend as he strides towards me and holds me tightly.
“Are you okay?” he asks immediately. “You’re really pale, Elizabeth. Come and sit.”
I want to say it. But the words won’t come. There’s a baby twisting my entire world out of shape. He knows and doesn’t need me to confirm, so I sit in silence, the words lodged in my throat. We sit there for twenty minutes, and I say nothing.
“I need to walk, James.” He doesn’t question it, just stands up and offers his elbow for me to take. My hand slowly reaches for his arm, curling around his bicep. I cling onto him, using his strength to hold me up, to keep me walking.
We walk side by side, without speaking for a while. Bear sniffs the grass, tail wagging. The sun filtering through the trees. Gentle and warm. Then James says something that almost tips my emotions over the edge.
“Whatever happens… whatever you decide, you don’t have to carry it alone.
” It is the first time in weeks someone has spoken to me like I matter outside of stolen moments.
I stop and look at him. His eyes are steady and soft.
A small warmth uncurls in my chest. Maybe I should take another test. I need to know for certain.
For now, I am just going to let James walk beside me in silence because it feels safe. It feels exactly like what I need.
The next morning, I take another test. It sits on the edge of the sink like a ticking time bomb.
I pace the bathroom, fingers pressed to my lips, Bear whining softly on the other side of the door.
I can hear the silence of the cottage pressing in.
My safe, once solitary space now feels like a fragile shell.
Two lines.
Again.
My breath catches, sharp and fast.
“No…” I whisper, voice cracking. But the proof is right there, staring back at me in soft pink.
My hand trembles as I reach for the edge of the sink.
I can’t cry. Not yet. I sit down on the closed toilet lid, staring at the test in my hand.
There is no relief. No joy. Just a tidal wave of shock and the heavy weight of this. Of what now?
Theo didn’t want more children.
He had made that clear. Too clear. And now this. A baby. His baby.
I fold forward, clutching my stomach as if I can already feel the change happening inside. It is too early to feel anything, of course, but still it feels real. Heavy with consequence. Heavy with a choice that I need to make.