An Honest Conversation
I first met Evelyn at Spanish classes. She was quiet, almost distant, with large grey eyes that seemed to hold an entire story within them. Being near her made me feel strong somehow.
She had a five-year-old son, Oliver, whom she was raising alone. She rarely spoke of the boys father or her past marriage, only mentioning once, tersely, that they «didnt see eye to eye» and that the first years after the divorce had been hard.
It didnt put me off. Quite the opposite. The way she looked at Oliverwith such tender, almost fierce protectivenessmade me want to be their shelter, the stronghold where they could finally breathe easy. Besides, I wanted children of my own.
We married a year and a half later. Id rented a cottage in the woods, and on the top floor, under the eaves, I proposed. She cried and laughed all at once, while Oliver clapped his hands, not fully understanding but feeling the joy in the air.
That night, lying in bed and gazing at the stars through the skylight, I finally said what Id been dreaming of:
«You know, itd be wonderful if Oliver had a little brother or sister. Id love that.»
Evelyn didnt answer. She just pressed closer, burying her face against my chest. I thought she was movedthat her silence meant yes.
We began «trying.» I read up on conception, bought her vitamins, eagerly discussed turning the small spare room into a nursery. She nodded, smiled, but there was something strained in it. I told myself it was exhaustion or nerves.
Everything fell apart on an ordinary Tuesday. I was searching the bathroom for spare toothpaste when I saw the blister pack poking from her toiletry bag. I looked up the medication on my phone. Contraceptives.
At first, I didnt believe it. Maybe an old pack shed forgotten to throw away? But the expiry date was fine. And several pills were missing.
It felt like a blow to the head. I stepped out of the bathroom and halted in the doorway. Evelyn was at the kitchen table, helping Oliver with his homework.
«Evie?» My voice was too loud. «Whats this?»
I held out the packet. She looked up, and everything in her facethe fear, the panic, the shamegave me my answer.
«Youre taking these now?» I asked, my tone carefully level, though I already knew.
She nodded silently, unable to meet my eyes. Her lashes trembled; she was fighting tears. Oliver, startled by our voices, went still, glancing between us.
«Why?» That single word held all my pain, all my betrayed hope.
«You wouldnt understand,» she whispered, tears spilling.
«If you explain, Ill try.»
We moved to the sitting room, sending Oliver to his. Evelyn hunched over, wringing her hands.
«I dont want another child, James. I just dont.»
«But *why*?» My voice cracked. «You knew how much I wanted this! We *talked* about it! You couldve just said no! Why lie? Why the charade with vitamins and nursery plans?»
«I didnt lie!» For the first time, she looked straight at me. «I just didnt argue.»
«Thats *worse* than lying!» I stood, pacing. «I made plans, I was happy, I believed in us! And you stayed silent, taking pills! Why, Evie? Did you think Id love my own child more than Oliver? I *love* him like hes mine!»
«Its not about Oliver!» Her cry was raw with despair. «Its about *me*! I wont be left alone with a baby again. I wont be dependent. I wont go back to having no money, no rights, not even a *say* in anything!»
«You dont want one at all? Or just not now?»
She covered her face, then dragged her hands down sharply, wiping away weakness with the tears.
«At all. Youve no idea what its likecounting every penny, begging for money like a pauper just to buy tights Being needed only to change nappies and warm dinners. I barely clawed my way out, James! Oliver and I lived on pasta so he could have fruit! I cant go through that again. Not even with you. Im *terrified*.»
She fell silent, spent. I stood there, her words echoing. And suddenly, it all made sense. Her thriftiness, her dread of arguments, her insistence on keeping even a small wage of her own. Not quirksscars.
I sat across from her. The anger had gone.
«Evie,» I said softly. «Im not *him*. Im not your ex.»
«I know,» she murmured, drying her face. «But fear isnt logical. It just *is*.»
The next evening, I placed a debit card on the table.
«Your own account. Half our savings will go in monthly. Your moneyonly yours. Spend it, save it, burn it. But youll always know its there.»
She stared at it, mesmerised.
«Why?» she asked, just as I had.
«So youre not afraid. So if you stay, its because you *want* tonot because youve nowhere else to go.»
She took the card, clutched it, and nodded. A tiny motion, but it meant more than any vow. That night, we found something fragileunderstanding. But Id underestimated her fear.
The next evening, the house was empty. A note lay on the table:
*James, I need time. I cant think here. Weve gone to Sophies. Please dont callIm not ready to talk. Forgive me.*
Rage came first. Running *again*! Silence *again*! I calledher phone was off. Messages went unread.
I rang Sophie. Theyd been friends since school; we got on well.
«Soph, can I speak to Evie?» I strained for calm.
«James, she cant right now,» Sophie said, too carefully.
«Dont do this. Just pass the phoneI need to talk to her!»
«Shes not ready. And I get it. Youve no idea how she is right now.»
Anger flared again.
«How is she? And how dyou think *I* am? We sorted this yesterday! I gave her that card so she wouldnt be afraid!»
«The cards good, James,» Sophie sighed. «But its a plaster on a bullet wound. You havent *listened* these past monthsjust pushed your own dreams. And yesterday, the way you looked at her She cried all night. She thinks you hate her now.»
«I dont *hate* her! Its just» I stopped. I *had* been furious. Betrayed. But hate? No.
«Give her time,» Sophie said gently. «She hasnt run from you. Shes running from her own panic. Let her breathe.»
I agreed. A day passed, then another. The silence gnawed at me. On the third day, I texted Sophienot Evelyn:
*Tell her Im not demanding anything. Just need to know she and Oliver are okay. Say Im not angry. Im waiting.*
Half an hour later, Sophie replied: *Olivers finethinks your WiFis down, so no video calls. Evelyns struggling. But Ill tell her.*
An hour after that, a message from Evelyn. Just two words:
*Im alright. Waiting.*
Attached was a photo of Oliver building Lego. That tiny message was my lifeline. *Waiting.* Not «leave me alone»*waiting*. The door wasnt shut forever.
Sophie was right. Time wasnt for me to cool offI already had. It was for her panic, that ancient terror of helplessness, to loosen its grip. For her to believe my «waiting» was sincere.
She called two weeks later:
«James, I miss you. I want to come home. And Im ready to talk.»
«Im waiting!» I said, smiling. «Ill order pizza.»
We didnt speak of children that night. Or the next month. But we learned to trust againslowly, honestly, without pretence. And perhaps one day, when her fear feels less real than the card in her purse, well talk about a second child. The important thing is honesty.
