“Scared?”

“I’ve been scared for months.” He paused and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “I keep hearing Alix’s voice telling you that marrying me was a mistake. Maybe she was right.”

“She wasn’t right! And I wish you hadn’t overheard that. I wish Alix had never said it.” That was what he’d been thinking? Did he really know so little about her?

It was true that they’d barely had any time together as a couple before Holly had arrived, but surely he should have known that she would have been nothing but supportive?

Apparently not. He’d felt that this was something he had to deal with by himself.

She’d been feeling helpless, and a little shocked, but now she also felt guilty.

In her determination to be the best mother possible, she hadn’t paid enough attention to the other aspects of her life. She hadn’t paid attention to Seb. To their relationship. To their needs as a couple.

She was the one who’d insisted they could afford the cottage. Because of her obsession with providing a perfect family life for them, she’d been the one to stretch their finances so tight they were close to snapping. She hadn’t factored in life going wrong. She hadn’t allowed a buffer. And now this.

She thought about all the days he’d traveled into London, supposedly for work.

How could she have not suspected something was wrong? There must have been signs.

She was the one who’d let him down, and she felt like an awful person.

She was relieved now that she’d delayed their flights. This was about more than his job. This was about them. Their relationship.

How were they ever going to fix this?

5

Alix

Alix dragged her bags over the uneven path that wound itself through the overgrown garden to the front door. It wasn’t hard to see why her friend had fallen in love with the place. Everything about it was welcoming. Ivy crept up honey-colored stone walls. Lights glowed from the windows, and smoke rose from the chimney in leisurely curls. A holly bush added a blaze of color, as if the plump red berries were announcing to the world that the cottage was ready for Christmas.

All that was needed to complete the picture of festive comfort was a layer of fresh, crisp snow, and if the forecast was to be believed, that was on its way.

She felt a tug of nostalgia.

When she was little, she used to lie in bed dreaming about a place like this. And then she’d realized that a home wasn’t honey-colored bricks or roses round the door. Home was people. Home was feeling wanted and loved.

She’d never had that with her family, and she’d learned to live without it.

She was responsible for her own happiness and security. And as for love—well, there was nothing wrong with self-love, was there? She was good to herself, and she liked the steady predictability of her life. From an early age she’d learned to rely on herself, and she’d always felt grateful for those skills. She had no expectations of others, and others had no expectations of her.