Page 38 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter twenty-nine

She came back eleven days later, a Saturday, late at night, when she knew he’d be home.

Every one of Daniel’s texts and calls had gone unanswered, and by the fifth day, he’d resigned himself to the worst: she was leaving him.

The thought hollowed him out, like a dinghy adrift on a stormy sea, its one-man crew clueless about where or when it might sink.

When the front door creaked open, he shot to his feet.

The woman standing in the hallway was Nell—but also not. She was still tiny, blonde and pixie-like, but she seemed diminished, a shadow of herself. As if her body were here but her essence hadn’t quite caught up. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I should have answered. I should have told—”

He cut her off, stepping toward her as the words tangled in his throat.

Ten days had given him too much time to brood.

Between long hours at work—his default refuge—he’d replayed everything in excruciating detail.

She wasn’t to blame. She’d told him about the no-children thing when he proposed, before they married, several times, and after. She’d been clear. He hadn’t listened.

The priest from school—an old man with breath potent enough to strip varnish—loved to repeat a favourite question: Do you know why God gave us two ears and only one mouth? He never waited for an answer, filling it in for the children himself every time.

Because He thinks listening is twice as important as speaking.

“Nell.” His voice was rough, frayed at the edges, like he was saying her name for the first time after thinking he never would again.

He reached her in two strides and wrapped her in a crushing embrace.

She was slight, fragile in his arms. “No, dinnae say anything more,” he said.

“I’m an arsehole. I’ll come to the exhibition—of course I will.

And the kids thing… you’re right. You told me, more than once. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

She sighed, the sound soft and weary, and he felt the weight of her breath like forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his face buried in her hair, drinking in the scent of her.

“Honestly, don’t worry about the exhibition,” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest. “You’re right. You should… do that thing in Dumfries & Galloway. As long as you’re there for the second night.”

“No, honestly, I’ll come.”

“The mortgage,” she murmured. “I don’t… contribute much at all. The fair will help secure more business, especially if you’re giving up the Byres Road shop.”

He eased her back slightly, his gaze searching hers. “Are you sure? I can cancel. I will cancel. You’re more important than—”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “I mean it. It’s fine.”

It was too easy to go along with it, the memory of yesterday’s uncomfortable meeting with his bank manager fresh in his mind. (“You’ve expanded too far, too soon, Mr Murray. This is not good. Not good at all.”)

A pause. Then Nell’s voice again, softer: “Can we just go to bed?”

“Aye, c’mon then.” He took her hand, his grip firm but tender, relief and love tangling into something he couldn’t quite name.

So they wouldn’t have children. That was okay. He could live with it.