Page 33 of Forever, Maybe

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

She was right, of course. The seventh of October was already inked into his calendar—a private event for Stuffed!

catering at some outdoor theatre performance in the grounds of a castle in Dumfries and Galloway.

The kind of gig they couldn’t afford to turn down.

Not now, with one shop on the chopping block and the mortgage looming larger—and more menacing—every month.

Och, aye, others could handle it. But this was the company’s first chance to rub shoulders with the kind of people who owned castles and hosted exclusive events.

Joe was solid, but Daniel needed to be there to oversee everything personally, handing out business cards to influential folks who might want an upmarket sandwich van serving smoked salmon sandwiches at their plays, weddings or country fairs.

“But I’ll be there the following night!” he said, snatching the champagne bottle from the fridge and topping up Nell’s glass with a forced cheerfulness.

“I’ll wander around, tell everyone to buy your stuff.

Because it’s fantastic! And they’ll believe me.

Everyone knows I’ve got a chain of businesses, and—”

Nell didn’t wait for him to finish. She stormed out.

He found her curled on the sofa in the living room, remote in hand, just as the TV flared to life.

That show Nell loved—the one about four terrifyingly opinionated women strutting around New York, raking in obscene amounts of money while appearing to do very little—filled the screen.

They seemed to swivel toward him in unison, brows arched in collective outrage, as if they knew exactly what he’d done.

He sank into the armchair, carefully keeping his distance. “I didn’t mean people would only buy your pictures because of me.”

Nell pointed the remote at him like a loaded gun. “Stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

She drained her champagne and set the empty glass on the coffee table. It teetered, then toppled onto the faux sheepskin rug. Neither of them moved to pick it up.

She lifted a hand, counting off on her fingers.

“Final year art school exhibition? You couldn’t make the first or second days.

Then, a year later, I get offered a place at St Martin’s—one of the best art schools in the country—and I turn it down because you won’t even think about moving out of Glasgow. And then, after that, I—”

Her words hit him like sharp jabs. He’d been trying to hold it together, but her tone—quiet, cutting—lit the fuse of his temper. “Yeah? And after that, Nell? We buy this house.”

He swept a hand around the room, its high ceilings and spacious corners. “A bloody ginormous house, wi’ four bedrooms. Four! A garden big enough for a kid to run wild in!”

She glared at him, her face tight with anger. “This is about Joe. And Nicky, isn’t it?”

He ducked his head, avoiding her gaze, before forcing himself to look up. “Mebbe. I just wondered if you’d had any more thoughts about—”

“No, I haven’t,” she said, cutting him off, her voice cold and measured. “I’ve always made that clear.”

The shift in her tone was unmistakable. Her shoulders curled inward, her face turned away, a wall slamming up between them. It didn’t stop him.

“I know you’ve said it before,” he pressed, his voice rising. “But we’re older now. We’ve got the space. I could hire a nanny, so it wouldnae be hard for you—”

“It’s not about the money or the work, Danny. It’s not.” Her voice was quiet, but the weight of her words filled the room.

“Then what is it about?” He leaned forward, frustration spilling over. “Because I cannae figure it out, Nell. I really can’t.”

She sat up straight, the towel turban slipping askew, stray golden hairs sticking out at odd angles. Normally, he’d find it funny, but there was nothing humorous about the way her face had hardened.

“I don’t want kids,” she said, each word deliberate. “That’s what I told you. Right from the start. Before we got married. Quite a few times before, actually.”

Fuck it. He’d started, so he might as well finish.

“Why don’t you want them? Wi’ me, I always thought I’d be a much better parent than my mum and dad were. And look at Joe—he’s over the moon. Nicky getting pregnant was an accident, but now he’s dead excited. Told me today it’s a wee girl they’re having. Don’t you think—”

The towel turban gave up its battle with gravity, toppling to the floor. Damp blonde strands tumbled around Nell’s flushed face, her cheeks blazing crimson. Her eyes locked on his, spitting pure fire.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” she snapped, her voice shaking.

“Or have you always assumed you could change my mind? All the things I’ve gone along with over the years—not going to London, marrying you, living with your fucking parents for so long, putting up with you cancelling holidays, trips out, dinners, parties—all at the last minute.

Every time! But this? This? I’m not going along with it. No. No. No! ”

She stormed out of the living room.

“Nell!”

He followed her upstairs, his stomach twisting into knots. She yanked a suitcase from under the bed, threw it on top, and started hurling clothes into it. Socks, underwear, tops, trousers—all piling up in a messy heap.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving you,” she said, her voice cold and clipped. “You don’t want me. You want someone like Nicky—someone desperate to reproduce. Go ahead, have a kid. God knows how you’ll fit childcare in with the hours you work. The poor thing won’t even know who its daddy is!”

He stood there, frozen. How had it come to this?

When he’d imagined this conversation—the one he’d been stewing on since they ran into Nicky—it had been calm, easy.

Like pitching to a bank manager. He’d present his case, logical and persuasive, complete with all the benefits.

She would argue at first, sure. Then, after a while, she’d nod along, convinced. Problem solved.

Instead, here he was, watching his wife pack a suitcase.

“Nell, stop this. Don’t be ridiculous!”

She stabbed at her phone screen, her movements jerky and frantic.

“Stephanie? Look, would it be okay if I—”

He lunged, trying to grab the phone. “Don’t be stupid!”

She sidestepped him, clutching the phone to her ear. “Can I come stay with you? Just for a bit.”

“Nell!”

He heard Stephanie’s voice on the other end, calm but firm. “Are you okay, Nell? What’s going on?” Joe always joked that Stephanie sounded like someone who could chew your balls off for breakfast and spit them out without breaking a sweat.

“I’m fine, fine,” Nell said quickly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. This wasn’t just a fight. This was real.

“Nell, please! ”

“Don’t. Don’t talk to me!” She yanked her overnight bag closed with a sharp, decisive tug.

“This is stupid! You cannae walk out just because I brought up babies!”

She didn’t answer, and the silence was louder than anything she could’ve said. It turned out she could walk out.

And she did.