I push the door in with my shoulder. God, I hope I find Sofia still inside. A day of running around, firefighting with Declan has got me pooped. I just want to cook a meal with Sofia – or more likely, have her teach me how – and see what other delights her body has to offer.

She’s standing right in front of me as I open the door, like the welcoming committee to heaven. I flash an appreciative smile. Damn, she looks good. Sofia must have bought some sweatpants today, but they hug her body so well I don’t care.

“Hey,” I grin. I can’t help it; it feels like it’s warming up my face. Sofia looks like she’s about to say something, but I hold her off.

“Hold up,” I say, jerking my chin at the massive brown grocery bag I’m bear hugging. “Let me put this down in the kitchen; then I’m all yours.”

The paper rustles as I place it down, and a can of tinned tomatoes falls out. I lean over to pick it up, and see Sofia through the gap between my thighs. She’s hiding behind the doorframe, as though she is scared to enter the kitchen.

“Not my best look, huh –?” I joke, attempting to lift her mood. I don’t know what’s got her so down. But I can think of a few ways to cheer her up …

“Kieran,” Sofia says, wringing her hands. Her face looks wan and drawn. I don’t know how I missed noticing that when I walked through the door. I was so wrapped up in my own happiness, I didn’t even realize it. “I need to tell you something …”

I stand up, and set the can down with a metallic clink. I stretch out my arms. “Well, don’t leave me hanging,” I grin. “It can’t be that bad, can it? It’s not like you’re pregnant.”

Sofia goes white.

“Kieran…” She whispers. One of her knees won’t stop moving: just jumping up and down, up and down. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. I can’t look at Sofia’s face: not right now.

My stomach clenches. I feel like a kid who’s just found out he’s got an unexpected exam, and he hasn’t studied. My mind is racing. Surely Sofia must be messing with me. “You can’t be serious,” I whisper, backing away from my girl. Even as I’m doing it, I know how bad it looks; but my body is on autopilot. “You said –.”

“That I was on the pill,” Sofia nods, so vigorously an absent part of my mind wonders if her head might just freaking fly off. “I was. I mean – I am. Well, not now, not now that I know, but –.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and Sofia falls silent: the battle of excuses dying in her throat. I can feel her eyes studying my face, interrogating it. I know she wants me to hug her, and tell her everything is going to be okay, but I just can’t. I want to, believe me I want to, but I can’t.

I run my fingers through my hair. “How long?”

“Just a few days,” Sofia says hurriedly. “I was going to tell you; I just … I just …” She tails off.

My heart stops beating. I look at Sofia, and all I see is betrayal staring back in her guilty eyes. I know it’s a betrayal, because why else would she look so guilty?

I take a step back, only to crash into the kitchen counter behind me. My head is shaking before I even start speaking. “How could you?” I say, with a voice that’s high and accusing. “What is this – am I – a game to you?”

Sofia lets out a little cry. It hurts me inside, but I push past the pain. Doesn’t she see how she’s hurt me? “Kieran,” she whispers, “please. Don’t be like this.”

“Are you going to keep it?” I ask.

The truth is I don’t know what answer I want to hear. I’m Catholic. We keep our children. Hell, even birth control is still frowned upon: at least by some. But still, I don’t know how I can raise a child with Sofia Morello.

Sofia swallows hard. I see her neck bobbling as she does. She nods, looking at me like she’s scared of me. “I am.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I know in my soul that that’s the answer I wanted to hear. But it doesn’t change a thing.

“I’ll pay for it,” I say, my voice cold. “I’ll care for it. I’ll have it when it’s my time, taking for holidays, everything it needs.”

Sofia looks hopeful. I hesitate before bringing down the knife, but not for long. The longer she stands there, in front of me, the more I consider holding off. Hell, a huge part of me is screaming that I should forgive her: most of me, in fact; just not the part that counts. But right now, my anger is too strong. It’s pushing me along and I’m just driftwood in the torrent.

I point at the door. Sofia’s expression creases with pain. “But right now, I need ye out of here. I need …time.”

Sofia’s pupils widen. If it’s even possible, she goes whiter than she was before. She looks like I’ve pronounced a death sentence upon her.

“Now.” I finish.

I watch as Sofia turns with dread in her eyes. She seems to have shrunk – noticeably – in the last few minutes. She pulls on those leather and suede knee-high boots, tucking them under her sweatpants. She looks at me one last time as she shrugs on her jacket, and then hangs her head.

The door clicks closed behind her.

I realize that I don’t know how long it’s been since I took a breath. I let out the contents of my lungs, and collapse to my knees. I’m burning up with anger. My fists are clenched, jaw set. Every inch of me is vibrating from the adrenaline flowing through me. I feel like I just ran the Olympic hundred meters.

My breath sounds unnaturally loud in my ear. It’s the only noise in the entire apartment. As the adrenaline and anger fade from my veins, I feel empty … exhausted …

… and alone.

“Ah fuck,” I groan. Why did ye have to go and do tha’ for?” I’m not sure who I’m talking to: Sofia or myself.

I stand up and step into the kitchen. The thick bag of groceries is still where I left it, and the sight of it forces me to remember how happy I was when I stepped into the apartment tonight. It’s an unpleasant thought.

I shake my head. I’m beginning to think that I’ve made a very bad decision. “Ye idiot,” I mutter, shaking my head again, “ye fecking idiot…”

The regret flows through me as I walk through the empty apartment. I’ve lived here a year, and yet there aren’t any decorations on the walls, nor photos. Just a few hours ago I was thinking of putting one of Sofia and me up, but I’m too late.

I can’t see her looking at me the same way again. I don’t blame her. I couldn’t have reacted worse. What is wrong with me?

I walk into the bedroom, and see a small pile of Sofia’s neatly folded clothes lying on my bed. That finally brings home how stupid I’ve just been.

“She’s the mother of yer child,” I moan to the empty room, “and ye sent her out into the cold wit’ nothing but the clothes on her back.”

I feel like I’m walking through a swimming pool, half a foot underneath the surface. I can’t see clearly, nor hear, nor even think. All I know is that I’ve got to get Sofia back in here, back into the warmth.

I don’t care whether she forgives me or not. I just want to know she’s safe. I can’t believe I’ve screwed up this badly. Now the anger has faded, I don’t even care what happened. That’s the worst part of it all. Even through the rage, I could see that Sofia wasn’t lying. She didn’t trick me into having this baby. Hell, she never even wanted to start dating me. I should’ve known that. I should’ve trusted her, and yet – and yet I didn’t. I couldn’t. I let the weakest part of me overcome me, and now it’s cost me everything.

But it isn’t too late to do the right thing by Sofia.

I run for the door, grabbing my jacket. I’m going to get Sofia back here, or somewhere warm. It doesn’t matter where, just that it happens: and fast, before it’s too late.