This was a mistake. Hannah is unflinchingly honest. This is when I learned not to ask a question you might not really want the answer to.

“I don’t know what changed. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I was hoping that a time might come where things in your life would be calmer. I didn’t want to hurt you when things were already so bad, but it’s starting to feel like I’m lying to you and I don’t want to do that.”

The things in my life she’s talking about are my mum having to go into a home, my dad having an affair, and the icing on the cake of shit: Surprise! You might end up with dementia too. A thought enters my mind, and once it does, it stays lodged there. This is exactly why she’s breaking up with me. There is no future with me. If my dad had known my mum might end up like she has, I’m certain he would have bolted early too. It must mean she never really loved me, like Dad must never have really loved Mum. It’s the end of the world. It’s a pain I can physically feel.

Little old ladies at the next table lean conspicuously in our direction. Hannah stands and takes a tenner out of her purse, then puts it on the table. I am confused for a moment until I realize she is paying for the cake.

“You’re my best friend,” she says, looking at her feet. “I think we can still have that. If you want to.”

I look at her. She’s biting her lip. I don’t know what to say. Whatever she says about wanting to be friends, it’s still something she’s willing to risk giving up to get out of our relationship.

She leaves the coffee shop. My eyes follow her involuntarily. I let my head fall into my hands, but my elbow slips and I accidentally flip the plate with the cake on it over the table, where it clatters against the floor, rattling the way a penny does when you spin it and it slowly stops. The cake slides across the café, leaving a long streak of caramel frosting on the tiles like a skidmark.

One of the little old ladies reaches out and pats me on the knee.

“It gets better, dear.”