I launched myself at him, smacking my hands across his chest and back, pushing him. He took it all, every single piece of myself that I was letting out. Years of pent up hurt and upset were now charging live with anger. My lungs were screeching for air like a belt had been tied around my chest, constricting my ability to take in breath. Suddenly, all the madness we had been through swirled around and started increasing in furious pace and noise.

‘I can’t believe it. Why didn’t I realise before now? It makes total sense,’ I said, clutching my chest as it all started to settle in to my thoughts and feelings until I was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do with the jumble of emotions I knew I’d never be able to name.

I pulled myself into a tight ball, rocking and sobbing and quickly falling apart in front of him. He was still sitting on the floor quietly crying into his arms. I didn’t know how much time had passed; we could have been there minutes or hours, but as I calmed myself down, I felt the tips of his fingers lightly brush mine as they splayed out onto the floor.

I picked up his hand and we held them together. No words or looks, just touch. Ironically, the man who had caused all of my pain was the one I needed to soothe it. We stayed like that until my legs cramped. I welcomed the distraction. It made me concentrate on something other than my intense disappointment.

I struggled to admit that even after hearing he was married, I still held on to the hope. Inside, I knew that made me a fucking awful person. There were so many times I thought we might still have a chance and he would realise he was still in love with me. I had dreamt that he would be heading for the divorce courts before Christmas. How could I have even hoped for that? I felt disgusted, but I still couldn’t stop my mind wandering through the fantasy. I knew a child changed everything. My fantasies were now just that—fantasies. Idiotic dreams of something that would never be part of me again.

Everything suddenly made sense.

Maths wasn’t my strong point, but I used my fingers to work out that Jamie had a son or daughter who would be well over a year old. The realisation of that was like a cold knife to the chest.

‘You were always so careful. We never…’ I shook my head repeatedly. ‘Even in the heat of the moment when you were pushing me against a wall, you never forgot to use a condom.’

‘I was out of it. I don’t know how I let it happen,’ he said, dropping his head heavily to the floor as I knelt beside him.

‘Can I hold you?’ he asked tentatively, barely meeting my eyes.

I shook my hand at him as I tried to get some feeling back into my numb legs.

‘You held me as I slept and then you fucking bathed me knowing all this,’ I spat as I walked towards the door.

‘Abi, please, there’s so much more to say. I can’t let you go until I’ve explained it all.’ He stood and awkwardly clenched his hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. ‘Let me finish; then you can go.’

I stared at the door I was only inches away from opening. ‘Do you have a son or a daughter?’ I asked, still with my back to him. I couldn’t face him when he answered my question. I heard him pull in a shaky breath that developed into soft, almost silent sobs that worked their way through to my bloodstream.

There was so much sadness in those sobs I couldn’t help but turn to him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand moving slowly backwards and forwards across his forehead as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his legs.

‘I need to show you something.’ He took his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a small collection of papers and some photographs. ‘I keep photos of the three most important people to me in my wallet so they’re always close.’

He pulled two photos from the back of the pile and handed them to me. His mum, smiling and happy, exactly how I remembered her. Another photo was a picture of me taken the night before he left. I was sitting at the kitchen table holding my hands out to a plate of lasagne he had made, the light of the candle illuminating my face. ‘You look like an angel. The light just enhanced everything that was already so beautiful.’

I could feel my breathing getting tighter and my hands trembling slightly. ‘And this is my other angel.’ He lifted another photograph and passed it over to me. It was a black and white picture of two hands. I knew instantly that one of those hands belonged to him. Resting delicately on top of his palm was the tiny hand of a baby.

‘My daughter,’ he said sadly.

I put my hand to my mouth in shock.

‘Can I tell you about her?’