‘That’s not true,’ Miranda said. ‘You’re letting the past dictate your future. That’s what I was doing. For the last seven years I’ve been living in the past. Clinging to the past because I was too frightened of loving someone and losing them. I can’t live like that any more. I’m not afraid to love. I love you. I think I probably always have loved you. Maybe not quite as intensely as I do now, but the first time you touched me it changed something. It changed me. You changed me.’
‘You’re in love with the idea of love,’ Leandro said. ‘You always have been. That’s why you latched onto Mark the way you did. You’re doing it now to me. You like to be needed. You like to fix things for people. You couldn’t fix things for Mark so you gave him the rest of your life. You can’t fix me, Miranda. You can’t make me into something I’m not. And I sure as hell don’t want you to give me the rest of your life so I can ruin it like I’ve ruined everyone else’s.’
Miranda took a painful breath. ‘What if that test had been positive?’ she said. ‘What would you have done then?’
He looked at her with his mouth tightly set. ‘I would have respected your decision either way.’
But he would have hated it, she thought. He would have hated her for putting him through it for she could never have made the decision to terminate. Not when she wanted a baby more than anything. Why had it taken her this long to see the lie she had been living? Or had she lived like that because everyone had kept telling her what she should do for so long, she had dug her heels in without stopping to reflect on what she was actually giving up? But if Leandro couldn’t give her what she wanted then there was no point in pretending and hoping he would some day change his mind.
She was done with pretending.
She had to be true to herself, to her dreams and hopes. She loved Leandro, but if he couldn’t love her back then she would accept it, even though it would break her heart.
But life was full of heart-breaking moments.
It was what life was all about: you lived, you learned, you hurt, you healed, you hurt and healed all over again.
‘I know you warned me about changing the rules,’ Miranda said. ‘But I couldn’t control my feelings. Not the way you seem to be able to do. I want to be with you. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I know we only have two days left, in any case, but it would be wrong of me—wrong for me—to stay another minute knowing you can’t love me the way I want and need to be loved.’
Nothing showed in his expression to suggest that he was even remotely upset by her announcement. She could have been one of the gardeners outside telling him she had finished for the day. ‘If you feel you must leave now, then fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring your flight forward.’
Do you need any further confirmation than that? Miranda thought. He couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Why wasn’t he reaching for her and saying, don’t be silly, ma petite, let’s talk about this? Why wasn’t he holding her close and resting his chin on the top of her head the way he so often did that made her feel so treasured and so safe? Why wasn’t he saying he had made a mistake and that of course he loved her? How he had always loved her and wanted the same things she wanted. Why was he standing there as if she was a virtual stranger instead of the lover he had been so intimately tender and passionate with only hours earlier?
Because he doesn’t love you.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll make my own way to the airport,’ Miranda said. ‘I hate goodbyes.’
‘Fine,’ he said and pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll order a cab.’
* * *
Miranda didn’t waste time unpacking her bag when she got home to her flat. She went to her wardrobe and pulled out the drawer that contained Mark’s football jersey. She unwrapped it from the tissue paper she kept it in and held it up to her face but all she could smell was the lavender sachet she had put in the drawer beside it. She gently folded the jersey and put it in a cardboard carrier bag.
Mark’s parents greeted her warmly when she arrived at their house a short time later. She hugged them back and then handed them the carrier bag. ‘I’ve been holding onto this for too long,’ she said. ‘It belongs here with you.’
Mark’s mother, Susanne, opened the bag and promptly burst into tears as she took out Mark’s jersey and pressed it to her chest. Mark’s father, James, put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders while he fought back his own tears.
‘I’m not sure if I’ve helped or hindered your grieving of Mark,’ Miranda said. ‘But I think it’s time I moved on with my life.’