“No, no – we’ll come and pick you up. Will be at your place at eight thirty.”

If I go with them, I can’t make a rapid escape.

“It’s better I meet you there. Sorry, Will, but I really have to dash.”

Without waiting for a reply, I hang up, place my phone back on the kitchen bench and sit down. Slowly, I lean forwards and place my forehead on the table.

All those years of working my butt off feeling like I was someone important. Then, today I hand over my accounts to a smirking Mark and instantly become worthless. The pregnant woman who can no longer do her job.

Every part of me resisted. My head, my body, my heart. I never realized how much importance I’d placed on my work until it was taken from me. Of course, it happens to women all the time. I’m not going through something unique or unusual. And that only makes me feel worse. That I just have to accept it, the way scores of other women have.

The baby gives me a gentle kick in the ribs – no doubt feeling too cramped in my hunched-forward position – and I straighten up. Retrieving my phone, I text Emma:

Did you ever feel like being pregnant was a bad idea?

Within seconds, my phone rings.

“All the time,” Emma says the moment I answer. “It’s OK to wish you weren’t a human incubator sometimes, Trish. Normal, even. You should see the stretch marks this little foetus is giving me, plus I barely slept last night because my hip is so sore.”

I don’t reply. Instead, I let a tear roll slowly down my cheek.

“Trish, what’s up?” Emma murmurs.

“I had to hand over all of my big projects to some smarmy little brat and he’ll get to reap the rewards of all my hard work and probably get a promotion. I’ll go back and probably have to work for him and start from the bottom all over again.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. It sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“This doesn’t have to mean your career is over. You’re just on a different path for a while.”

I stay silent.

“Trish, it’s OK to be pissed off that you’re pregnant.”

Emma is getting far too close to the truth.

“Trish? Talk to me. I swear whatever it is, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“I kept thinking all day…” I trail off.

“Thinking what?”

“I kept thinking, if I, if only…”

“If only you weren’t pregnant?”

I nod. She can’t see me, but somehow she knows my answer anyway.

“Trish, I think that nearly every day. I mean, I’m happy I’m pregnant, but I also curse the day and wish it had never happened. It was the same when I was pregnant with Freddie.”

“Really?”