Despite knowing that Marcus will be at work, I’m still nervous. I unlock the front door, but Conner steps in first, telling me to stay behind him. I’m not sure what he thinks will be lying in wait. The scary monster is at his office right now, but I let him get on with his protective mode, secretly enjoying it.
I give him directions up to my old bedroom and he stands and watches as I walk into my wardrobe. There are drawers fitted along one wall, I lift the bottom one out and find my diaries still safely hidden. It’s not the best spot, but it’s done its job for the last eight years. Conner passes an old suitcase of mine and I throw my diaries in.
“Anything else you wanna grab while you’re here?” Conner whispers.
“Why you whispering?” I whisper back, initiating the best smile from Conner, which makes me smile and wince at the same time.
“I don’t know, I was…”
His phone rings.
“Shit,” he says, still whispering.
I watch as he answers. I feel nothing being back here. I’ve no attachment to this place whatsoever, but at the same time it still seems surreal that Conner’s here.
For years, I used to have sex with my husband in this bed and pretend I was with Conner. I’d think of him before I went to sleep at night, dream about him as I slept and think about him as soon as I woke in the morning. And now, here he is, in all his glorious perfection and best of all, I get to go home with him. I get to leave this house behind and go home with Conner.
He ends his call and looks at me, looking at him for a few seconds.
“Well?” he asks.
“Well what?”
“You’ve got the incriminating stuff, is there anything else you wanna grab?”
“Ah, yeah. Passport.”
“Where is it?’ he asks.
Hmmm. See, there’s the thing.
“I don’t know, Marcus always used to keep it. In the safe I assume.”
I wait for the comment.
“Marcus used to keep your passport? And you let him?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. He just always looked after it.”
Another one of those things I never really thought odd until I left him. Marcus was always actually a little bit obsessive about knowing where my passport was, saying it was because it was a pain in the arse to get it replaced if I lost it and because I was forgetful and always losing things, it was better if he kept a hold of it. The thing was though, I’ve never been forgetful, or careless. I’ve never been one to lose things, but I never questioned his motives or reasoning. I just rolled over and let him control things.
I go back into the wardrobe and end up where Marcus has all of his clothes. The safe is hidden behind his suits. I just hope he hasn’t changed the combination.
It opens at my first attempt… two, four, zero, seven. Twenty-fourth of July, the date we got married.
I pull out everything inside. My wedding and engagement rings that I sent back to him via our solicitors, as well as some other jewellery and a whole stack of paperwork.
I carry everything out to the bed and sit and go through it. There are share certificates, insurance and mortgage paperwork and all sorts of other boring stuff. I pull out my passport and pick up the paperwork when a letter catches my eye. The sender’s address is printed across the top of the envelope, it’s from a Harley Street day surgery unit. I pull out the letter and start to read.
As what I’m reading starts to sink in, the words begin to move around the page. My hand covers my mouth as I’m actually afraid I’m going to vomit. I look from the page to Conner, who’s talking on the phone, he looks thoroughly pissed off and is only just not shouting.
I’m not sure how I feel at this moment. Totally and utterly betrayed or completely overjoyed. As I wait for Conner to finish his call, I go through a range of emotions, causing my body to feel hot, cold and tingly. I feel angry, sad, happy, disappointed and elated all at once.
Conner ends his call.
“We need to go to the police. Right now, Meebs. We need to go to the police and get this fucker arrested.”
“He had a vasectomy.”
Conner steps toward me, looking as confused at my words, as I do at his.
“What? Who?” he asks.
“Marcus, over a year ago, he had a vasectomy. All this time, Con, he made me feel bad. He made me believe that it was all my fault that I didn’t fall pregnant. All those threats he made at the hospital, knowing the whole time the baby wasn’t his. The baby is not his, Con.”
“The baby’s ours,” he almost sighs the words, before wrapping his arms around me. “We’re having a baby, Meebs. We’re having a fucking baby.”
And there, in the most unlikely of places, our happily ever after starts to come together.
“Shall we shag on his bed?” he whispers in my ear.
“You’re twisted, Conner Reed.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Nina Amoeba.”
As tempted as I am, I just want to get out of here now.