I turn around and step inside, indicating with a small dip of my head for him to follow. When we reach the living room, I place the flowers on the coffee table and sink onto the couch. Pete sits beside me, so close his leg touches mine.

Pete places the present on my lap with a flourish.

“Sorry again for bailing on you, Trish. It was poor form.”

“I had enough help in the end.”

For a split second I think of Scott, then I quickly turn my attention to opening the present.

“Wow,” I say, genuinely stunned when I remove the wrapping paper.

“It’s not something useful or anything, but when I saw it, I thought of you. It lights up with this soft glow – they showed me in the shop – and I thought you could have it in the baby’s room and look at it together. You could point out all the places you’ve been and tell the little one about what an amazing, talented mummy you are. And I figured it must be hard for you – you’re probably going to miss it, the whole work thing – but this will be a nice reminder. You can look at all the places you’ve been and imagine all the places I’m sure you’ll get to one day.”

As Pete talks, I open the box and carefully pull out the most beautiful globe I’ve ever seen. I spin it around on its brass stand and run my finger over the bumps and contours on the surface. In all the years Pete and I were together, he never came close to buying me such a beautiful, thoughtful gift.

“I love it,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

Pete clears his throat. “Can we maybe plug it in? See how it looks? I’d love to see the baby’s room.”

Who is this guy sitting next to me? He’s almost a stranger.

“S-Sure,” I stammer.

In a fluster, I fling the ripped paper and box to the floor and stand.

“You won’t recognize it,” I say, trying not to sound excited.

He stops at the threshold to the nursery and stares.

“Wow,” he whispers. “Trish, this is amazing.”

I watch him as he walks slowly around the room, gently fingering the woollen blanket on the basinet, running his hand over the back of the nursing chair, standing at the changing table and looking with a goofy smile at the waterproof mattress as if he’s imagining a baby lying there kicking its pudgy little legs.

My hands rest on my stomach. “Not bad, eh?”

Pete looks at me with such tenderness I catch my breath. He steps towards me, places his hands on my cheeks and kisses my forehead.

“It’s perfect, Trish,” he murmurs, his lips dusting my skin as he speaks.

My heart beats hard and fast. “Thanks.”

He lets go of me and steps over to the window.