“Garden is looking great as always. Once the baby arrives, you can spend time out there together. Aren’t babies supposed to thrive on fresh air?”

My enjoyment of gardening was never something Pete could understand. He’d often get annoyed with me when I spent so much time out there. Once, he even offered to hire a gardener, thinking it would free me up to spend more time doing other “more meaningful things”, as he put it. Pete couldn’t see it was my therapy, even when I tried to explain how much it meant to me. And now he suddenly seems to get it.

Pete turns to face me and clears his throat.

“Any news?” he asks.

“About what?”

“The tests. You know, to find out who the dad is.”

“Not yet. Sometime in the next day or two, apparently.”

He nods and shuffles from one foot to the other.

“I’ve been thinking about it, Trish. A lot. And I wanted to let you know… well, I really hope it’s mine. I’m ready to be a dad, to have a baby with you. Work has always taken up so much of my life and this could be just what I need, you know? A chance to re-assess my priorities. A chance, maybe, to have a second chance with you, too. If you’ll let me.” He wrings his hands nervously as he speaks.

“Hell, I don’t know what to say to that, Pete. Are you OK? Is there something you’re not telling me? Like, you’ve only got a few months to live or something.”

It’s harsh, but then, I’m more than a little freaked out.

Pete steps quickly across the room.

“I’m serious about everything I’ve said.” He grasps my arms. “And I’m not putting pressure on you or suddenly expecting you to welcome me back into your life. But I want to be honest with you about my feelings. I never stopped loving you, Trish.”

“You had a funny way of showing it,” I mutter.

“Please, Trish. Give me another shot. I swear I’ll be a better person.” He places a palm gently on my hand resting on my stomach. “And a good father,” he whispers.

I’ve lost all feeling in my body. Shut down. Even my heart seems to have stopped beating. Pete has given the perfect speech and yet, I can’t seem to register it.

“Say something, Trish.”

Pete runs a finger down my cheek, along my collarbone and over to the back of my neck. He knows what effect it has on me; how I melt when he touches me that way.

I take a quick step back. “I have to go out,” I say rapidly. “I’m late.”

Pete frowns. “Where?”

“I’ve got my first antenatal class. Probably going to be me and a roomful of loved-up happy couples, but…” I shrug.

“Let me come,” Pete says.