Mum, Ive something to tell you but promise me youll sit down first.
Katie flopped onto the sofa next to Mary, tucking her legs beneath her with the sort of excitement that made Mary put down her book and remove her glasses. The last time her daughter had looked so giddy, she was twelve and had just won the boroughs creative writing competition.
I met someone. In a café, completely by accident. Well, all right, not entirely by accident we were sitting at adjacent tables and he started talking to me first, but then we ended up chatting for three hours. Can you imagine?
Katie was breathless, details tumbling out in the wrong order, doubling back, only to get tangled again. His name was Roman Roman Jones, thirty-four, worked in an architects office, had the sort of sense of humour to make you snort your coffee. He was and this was crucial the only man who ever let her finish her sentences. Three dates in ten days, the last of which ended with a starlit wander along the Thames Embankment till two in the morning both knowing full well theyd be groggy at work the next day.
He justgets me. I say something, and he picks up the thought midair, and I think goodness, where have you been hiding all this time?
Mary was listening, head tilted just so, shaking her head not in disapproval but in muted, genuine surprise. Youre absolutely glowing, Katie. Ive not seen you like this for ages.
Thats when Katie stalled. Not abruptly, but as though all the excited words had slowly drained away, leaving something much heavier at the bottom. Her gaze fell to her hands, knotted together in her lap, and she sat there quietly, gathering herself.
But
But what? Mary leant forward, frown lines furrowing, trying to read her daughters face. Katie, what is it?
Hes married.
Mary leant back, exhaling slowly. She was silent for a good five seconds, but it was enough for Katie to instantly regret the last fifteen minutes of word-vomit.
Katie, thats not just a but. Thats enormous. Dont you see what a mess this is? Youre wrecking someones marriage making off with another womans husband.
Mum, he says he hasnt loved her for years. Hes only staying for the kid. He told me himself; Im not imagining it.
And the child? Marys voice sharpened. So that doesnt count? What on earth are you doing, barging into peoples lives, deciding who ends up with whom?
Im not deciding anything, Mum. Im just
Youre just seeing a married man. Three times in ten days. And now bursting in here, looking like the cats got the cream!
Katie leapt from the sofa, unable to bear another minute of her mothers ice-cold disappointment. Mary stood, too, but didnt follow. She just hovered by the sofa, and somehow that was even worse. Had she followed, perhaps thrown an arm around her, Katie might have managed. Instead, she grabbed her coat from the rack, arms fumbling through the sleeves, and left swallowing tears she could no longer hold back.
Back home, Katie sat in the hallway for ages, boots still on, palms pressed against her damp cheeks. When her phone finally buzzed in her pocket, Romans name lit up the screen. She wiped her face, cleared her throat, and answered.
Hi, Romans voice was gentle enough to unspool her all over again, and she let out a ragged sigh, fighting back tears.
I told my mum. About you about us.
How did she take it?
About as well as youd expect. She says Im destroying a family. An awful person. Not in those words exactly, but you get the drift.
Silence. Katie listened to his breathing as he searched for the right words.
Katie, I honestly dont know what to do anymore. My daughters four. Every day I think about her. If I walk out, I feel like Im betraying her, but I cant go on like this. I think I think my wifes cheating on me. That probably helps if we end up in court, but
He trailed off, and for a few seconds, Katie let the silence settle with them. Then something clicked in her mind, a thought that mustve lurked there all along, but shed never actually spoken it aloud.
Roman Are you sure your daughters yours? You keep saying you suspect shes had an affair.
More silence.
Roman didnt call that night. Or the next. Katie sent a short text no questions, no expectations, just letting him know she was there. The next day, finally, a reply: Did the DNA test. Waiting for results. Cant talk, sorry. Katie had to bite her lip to stop herself calling him.
The next month stretched out endlessly, as if time itself was mocking her. Roman phoned occasionally, usually late, usually for brief, disjointed chats. Katie could tell how much he was struggling by the way hed pause mid-sentence, switch topics, or just sigh and mutter about mundane things anything except what really mattered.
She didnt pry, didnt push. She was just there: the other end of the phone chatting about work, the new bakery round the corner with croissants so decadent they should really be illegal just keeping him company, trying to give him five minutes escape.
Then came Thursday. The rain outside was biblical, the kind London does best. Katie called it a night and got into bed early, determined to actually sleep for once. At nearly eleven, the doorbell rang. She threw on a cardigan and opened the door to find Roman sodden, eyes raw, a crumpled sheet of paper balled in his fist. He said nothing, but he didnt need to; one look at his face told Katie everything before she even spotted the DNA results. She tugged him inside, slammed the door with her heel, and hugged him so tightly he finally crumpled and pressed his forehead into her shoulder.
Not mine, he choked out, and Katie flinched at how much pain fit into those two small words. Four years, Katie. Four years thinking I was a dad, and she knew all along.
Katie just stroked his hair and didnt say a word. Sometimes, you dont need advice or a pep talk. You just need someone who wont let go.
The divorce took months grim, exhausting months. Katie shuttled Roman to the solicitor, picked up the paperwork, cooked dinner when he came home pale and hollow-eyed after another hearing.
She never complained or demanded his attention, even when she caught herself feeling lonely or scared herself. But day by day, Roman slowly returned to himself, regaining that sturdy core Xenia had chipped away for years.
Nearly a year passed. They married quietly, no fuss just a registry office ceremony and a couple of mates as witnesses. Afterwards, Katie confessed it was the best day of her life not showy, just honest. Their new flat, bought together, smelt of fresh paint and lingering sawdust, and she loved it for everything it promised: their very own beginning.
Then came Leo. Katie was handed a tiny, howling bundle in the ward, face furious and wrinkled. She glanced at Roman, who hovered beside her, petrified of even breathing wrong, and marvelled that, a year ago, shed have thought this impossible.
Two weeks after they got home, Katie placed a sealed envelope in front of Roman. He looked from the envelope to Katie, and shook his head, half-laughing.
Katie, come on. Of all people, I dont need that from you.
Go on, open it. Katie curled her legs onto the sofa, cuddling dozing Leo. Its not about trust its just so we both know for sure. Babies do get switched in hospitals, you know. This way, well never have to wonder if the little screamers ours.
Roman unfolded the paper, scanned the lines, and set it on the table. Then he sat beside her, gently squeezed Katie and Leo together, and there they stayed until the neighbours started noisily up one of their TV debates through the wall. Katie shut her eyes and thought about how her parents had finally thawed. Dad had shaken Romans hand last week and even volunteered to help put together the cot. Mary had knitted booties for the little one three times bigger than necessary, but made with such love Katie nearly burst into tears on the doorstep.
And she thought: maybe shed been right, back then, not to walk away.
