He glanced at the badge. “Still working too much?”
I nearly laughed, because that accusation has outlived the marriage.
“I like my job.”
“Oh, I know you do.”
The corridor had gone quiet in the particular way corridors do.
And then he stepped round so that everybody could see the buggy, and delivered the line he had clearly been carrying about for a year.
“Leaving you was the best decision I ever made.”
Yvie said his name.
He carried on.
“A woman who can’t have children shouldn’t be surprised when a man finds one who can give him a proper family.”
A nurse stopped typing. A father put his cup down.
Six years of appointments went through me in about a second. Six years of thinking it was mine to carry and that grief had changed a man I loved.
And standing in that corridor I understood that nothing had changed him. It had been there the whole time, waiting for a reason to be said out loud in public.
