Page 53 of I Know How This Ends

I don’t want this gift anymore.

It’s given me everything and then taken it all away, and it’s too cruel, too unkind, too unnatural. I wasn’t meant to know . I was supposed to meet Henry and fall gradually in love, get married, be happy and then have divorce thrown at me like a

surprise hand grenade, the way it is for everyone else.

I wasn’t supposed to see the end coming like this.

“Margot.” Henry gently nudges me further into the hedge for safety, then sits on the ground next to me. “Margot, are you OK?

Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“Please.” I press my forehead into my bare knees. “Henry. I need to think.”

Because what do I do now?

I could just go with it, let this future happen—take the happiness and treasure it, hold on to it, enjoy it while it lasts—but

it’s not that simple. If this was a three-year fling, I’d say: sod it. Let’s have a lovely time and say goodbye when it reaches

the end, then move on. Consider it a lovely life experience, pocket the memories: thanks for your love and all the great sex.

But this isn’t going to be that. It’ll be a huge chunk of my life.

It’s not another ten years, it’s fourteen, possibly fifteen years .

I’m thirty-six now. By the time it’s over, I’ll be in my fifties.

I won’t have my own children, or my own family: Winnie didn’t mention any siblings or babies, and there are none with me on that street.

If we’d had children together, I would have to see Henry more often, and it wouldn’t have been How are you?

It would have been I’ll take the kids next weekend and Have you packed their sports gear for the school football tournament?

I realize that Winnie didn’t mention Cheds either and my chest aches more.

It will be too late to have a family, to start again.

If I live as long as my grandfather—which is optimistic but not impossible—that’s another forty years alone. Four decades, just me. In a very expensive coat and nice boots. With a shitload of memories. A dead cat. An adult stepdaughter

I see for coffee sometimes. And an ex-husband who’s wandering around the world as a silver fox and a successful surgeon, more

gorgeous than he’s ever been.

Henry.

This is going to destroy him too. Henry won’t have any more children either, and I know he wants them: I’ve seen it in his

face, in future visions. He’ll lose another wife, and go through that grief all over again. He’ll be heartbroken too. And Winter: I’ll be forcing myself into her life

as a mother figure, making her need me and love me. And then I’ll take it all away for a second time. I can’t do it to that

beautiful, sweet little girl.

How can I go through with this relationship, knowing what happens at the end? I’ll be watching, constantly. Anxiously studying, waiting,

looking for the Red Flags: the signal that it’s going to be over. Trying desperately to avoid it. Every beautiful, happy moment

will now be tinged with sadness, knowing that it’s not permanent.

Logically, I know what the answer is. With the data I’ve now collected, there is only one possible solution that doesn’t ruin

both our lives.

But it’s more than that: my heart can’t do it either.

Not again. Not with Henry.

I love him now—more than I loved Aaron—but I don’t love him as much as I’m going to in the years to come, when we’ve become part of each other: growing round each other like tree roots.

I don’t know him now like I will eventually.

When every single part of him is dear and familiar to me, when I won’t be able to live without him.

And, in the meantime, I’ve thrown away any chance at another future.

Closing my eyes, I stand up.

This has to be done, and it has to be done now.

It’s going to hurt him—of course it is—but I’m just a woman he’s dated for five weeks who will be forgotten about in a month

if I handle this properly. Henry hasn’t seen what I’ve seen: the engagement, the wedding, the birthdays. He hasn’t felt the

love I’ve felt—hasn’t fast-forwarded into our future together—so this isn’t going to be as hard for him as it is for me. He’ll

move on, he’ll meet someone else, and I have to let him do that.

I have to let us both do that.

So that we both have a chance at a future that sticks.

“Meg?” Henry kisses the top of my head. “What the hell’s going on?”

Wiping my eyes so he can’t see, I stand up slowly and face him.

“I am so sorry,” I say as clearly as I can. “But this isn’t what I want.”

Henry stares at me in amazement.

“You’re very nice.” I clear my throat. “And this has been super fun.”

He winces slightly and I have to dig my nails into my hand to keep going.

I am so, so sorry, Henry.

“But I don’t think it’s going anywhere. We’re just not right for each other.”

In a way, it’s the truth: it’s not going anywhere. It’ll just take us a decade and a half to realize that, by which time it’ll be too late.

“And I apologize for this sudden realization,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice neutral, my eyes dry. “Truly. The last five weeks have been lovely.”

They haven’t been lovely: they have been life-changing.

It has been the single greatest period of my life. Henry has altered me permanently and I cannot believe I’m not going to

be standing at our wedding, screwing up our vows, beamed at by a little girl for whom I will now become a distant memory,

her ex one-time babysitter, cat-adopter and not-cleaner.

“But I don’t want to waste your time,” I finish lamely.

Because it’s always, always the time : running out, like a bucket with a hole in it. Drip, drip, drip , and before you know it you turn around and there’s nothing left. Just a stupid giant, looming ever darker while we hold

on to our miniature teacups and look up at the sky.

Then I lift my chin and try to make my eyes steely: cold and unflinching.

Let me go.

“OK,” Henry says simply.

Now it’s my turn to flinch: it wasn’t supposed to be that easy.

“OK?”

“OK.” Henry nods. “I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me, Meg. It’s the most basic, fundamental cornerstone

of a relationship. So if this isn’t what you want, you’ve made the right choice.”

My heart thumps painfully: yet again, he is showing such grace and dignity.

Henry is everything I’ve ever wanted—everything I’ve ever wanted to be— and I cannot believe I have to let him fly off into the sunset to meet some lovely, normal woman who doesn’t have bloody visions

of the future at random intervals.

“OK.” I nod and swallow. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

He smiles, looking so sad, and I smile back at him.

Fuck my fucking life. Again.

“Shall I drive you home, then?” Henry scratches his head. “I don’t really fancy wandering the countryside of Cornwall on my own.”

Our weekend: our beautiful, sexy, lace-trimmed weekend.

All gone, just like our future.

“Yes, please.” I nod. “Thank you, Henry. For everything.”