Page 224 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He swallowed down against the lump in his throat. He couldn’t speak. He simply nodded.

‘This way,’ she said. ‘It’s not far.’

She stopped in front of a tiny grave, edged in marble rail. A small white stone comprising twin hearts stood at its head, on which two birds carrying a ribbon heavenwards were engraved.

Along with two names and an inscription.

Laura Marianne and David Dominico

Beloved babies of

Marianne and Dominico

Born before their time. Lost but never forgotten.

Sleep well, our tiny babies, sleep well.

‘You gave them names,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. Both of the babies were acknowledged as his children. ‘Our names.’

She gave a shrug as she knelt down, pulled a tiny weed from the grave and tenderly placed a posy next to each heart. ‘I couldn’t give them life. I had nothing else to give them.’ She sniffed. ‘Laura and David were my parents. I thought it appropriate.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this alone.’

‘It’s my own fault,’ she said, taking his proffered hand as she rose. ‘I wanted to tell you, I was so excited to tell you, but I wanted to tell you face to face, not over the phone, not in a letter. And you were coming back, you told me, so I waited. And when, finally, I tried to tell you over the phone, you asked if it could wait. And then it couldn’t, and I’d waited too long.’

She hauled in a breath. ‘And then one of my waters broke. It was too early and there was nothing anyone could do, but they assured me that it didn’t mean I’d lose both babies. Except they were wrong. I don’t know why—nobody could tell me why, nobody could explain it—but it happened again, the second baby’s waters broke, and I lost them both. They were so tiny, Dom, tiny like dolls, but they were beautiful. Perfect with legs and arms and the tiniest of fingers and toes. They died in my arms. They were too tiny to survive with their lungs underdeveloped. And then it was too late to tell you anything. You were already not coming back and I had nothing to tell you.’

He had been coming back. He’d meant to come back.

Over and over, he’d told her he was coming back.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘I should have come back.’

‘You called the week after I lost them, said you couldn’t see your way clear, and you didn’t want to keep me waiting endlessly, that maybe it was better if we ended it. That it was for the best.’

‘And you agreed,’ he said, his voice hoarse as he remembered, guilt piling on guilt that he’d imagined for one moment that she’d agreed with him because she’d already found someone else and moved on. Guilt piling on guilt that when he finally had come looking for her and discovered that she was married he’d believed it.

Tears stained her face. She looked up at him beseechingly. ‘Are you angry with me, for not telling you?’

‘No. I’m angry with myself, for ever imagining that work was more important than following my heart. And I’m angry with myself for not figuring out why you hated me so much. For believing that you had no right to hate me when you have every right in the world. Can you ever forgive me, Marianne?’

The waves crashed into the cliffs, sending spray high into the sky and salt-tinged air on the breeze.

She looked up into his face, taking in the dark, tortured eyes and clenched jaw. The breeze toyed with the ends of his hair, the movement at odds with the severity of his features and his plea for forgiveness.

And Mari felt that same breeze move through her and lighten her own soul. So much pain and hurt they’d caused each other. So much unnecessary resentment, and yes, even hate over the years.

‘I already have,’ she whispered. ‘What happened to us was the result of circumstances outside of our control. It was the result of bad timing and bad luck. You never meant to hurt me, you thought you were doing me a favour releasing me, and I never intended keeping our babies secret for ever. And yet we fell through the cracks of our own bad decision-making.’

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, his jaw relaxing. ‘Thank you.’

She licked her lips. ‘But I have a question. What happens now?’

‘What do you mean? We’re married, Marianne. You’re pregnant with our babies. What do you think happens?’

‘I don’t know,’ She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘You’re the one who insisted this marriage be temporary. You’re the one who arrived here with a wad of divorce papers for me to sign.’

‘And then I discover that you’re pregnant.’

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