“And that was the biggest shock of all,” Pete exclaims. “It was so un-Trish-like.”

“Thanks.”

“What I mean is, you didn’t plan to get pregnant but you did. So maybe it’s a sign that, well, that things aren’t supposed to be over between us. I still love you, Trish. The whole time I was in Sydney, I never stopped loving you.”

My heart starts to beat fast. “You had a girlfriend, Pete.”

He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “How did you know?”

I roll my eyes. “You do know what Facebook is, right?”

When I saw the photo of Pete with a slim, dark-haired nymph less than four months after he took off to pursue the career of his dreams, I felt as if I’d been scraped hollow.

“She was a distraction, Trish. A way for me to try to forget you.”

I finish making the coffee, slide it towards him and sit. “It’s not important anymore.”

“What about you?” he says. “You clearly haven’t been a spinster.”

I can’t believe we’re going down this path.

“What do you want, Pete?” I snap.

He suddenly reaches out and takes my hand.

“I want us to forgive each other for everything that’s happened and to get back together. I’ll have the DNA test and hopefully, the baby will be mine. If it isn’t… well, we’ll find a way to deal with it.” His thumb strokes the top of my hand. “I want to be with you, Trish. So, so much.”

I look into his wide hazel eyes. When Pete suddenly reappeared a few months ago after two years of nothing – no phone call, no email – I’d have done anything to hear him say those words. I thought he was still in Australia, but one evening he showed up at the bar where I always met my friends, came over to our table and chatted away as if he’d just been on a two-day work trip.

I reacted the only way I knew how: like it was no big deal. He sat down, had a few too many drinks with us, then threw his arm around me as we got up to leave. I ignored the looks from my friends who had been watching me all night with concern. Several times they’d suggested we head home, but I wanted to stay at the bar. I refused to show weakness. When Pete and I got back to my place, we couldn’t get our clothes off fast enough.

It wasn’t until the morning when I woke with him asleep beside me that I realized I couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t risk him hurting me. So I sent him packing and he made no attempt to change my mind. He never said he loved me, wanted to be with me. He just yelled that I was leading him along and left.