My stomach rolls and the tears well again. He’s going out tonight with his friends. I can’t deal with not knowing what’s going on.
I need to talk to him.
I glance down at the letter on the seat, I screw up my face i
n tears and I sniff loudly.
He wouldn’t.
I stop at the traffic lights and I glance at my watch. Shit, hurry up.
If I don’t catch him as he’s walking to his car, I won’t know where he is, and I am not having this conversation over the phone. I need to see his face when I confront him.
I glance at the car next to me. The lady is looking at my crying face with a worried expression.
No, I’m not okay, bitch.
I shake my head and wipe my eyes with my forearm.
I know this has to be a misunderstanding. He wouldn't do this to me. Of course he wouldn't because that would be the end of us and he knows that.
Please don’t let this be the end of us.
I’m not ready to let him go.
Please, please, please, baby. Don’t let this be true.
I turn into the underground parking lot and I drive around until I see his car in his reserved parking space.
He’s still here.
I park my car and get out with the letter gripped firmly in my hand. I glance down at my watch. It’s 4:30 p.m and he’s finished for the day. He should be coming out at any moment. I walk over to his car and lean on it and I wait.
Twenty minutes later, he appears, talking and walking beside another man in an expensive suit. I immediately stand up straight, my racing heart driving me wild. He glances up and frowns when he sees me.
“See you later,” he says to his friend as he walks over to me. His eyes hold mine, and I know he can tell I’ve been crying, “What’s up?” he asks.
I should say something intelligent, or ask a calm question—anything that will help me not look like a complete lunatic—but I just don’t have it in me.
I hold up the letter. “You tell me.”
He frowns, takes the letter out of my hand and reads it. His eyes come back up to my face and he rubs his tongue over his teeth.
“You opened my mail?”
“Tell me it’s not true,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes and opens his car to throw his briefcase in his trunk, slamming it shut with an almighty thud. "This is not the time or place to discuss this," he says calmly.
“Is it true?” I scream, completely losing control.
He puts his hands into his suit pockets and swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes.” I stagger back from him, shocked. “What?” I whisper. Pain shoots through my chest.
He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. “I told you… I don’t want any more children.” I stare at him in shock, his silhouette blurred because of my tears. “So you were going to just do this without telling me?” I whisper.
He drops his chin to his chest. “No, I was going to tell you.”
“To make me leave?” I frown.