Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise

by Louisa Heaton

  Paris had exceeded her expectations. No. That wasn’t right. Sam had exceeded her expectations. Paris had simply been a place. A setting. It was she and Sam who had done all the work. Both of them initially hiding from their feelings, being the people they had always been, but then slowly, after all their time spent together, they’d revealed their true selves.

  They had eaten and danced and rowed a boat. They had biked through the artists’ quarter and looked out from the Eiffel Tower. They had re-explored the city as much as they had re-explored themselves, finding places to go they had never been before and finding delight and joy and even peace in quiet, dark places.

  They were returning to Beverly Hills with a united front. With their marriage a hundred times stronger than it had ever been.

  Her dream had come true.

  And it didn’t matter now if Sam’s memories came back. He’d known they’d been arguing, he’d known it had been bad, and they’d both worked out why. Now they had a solution and they were strong again. Sam might feel a little sad if the memories came back. Being confronted with some of the things he’d said. Some of the things she had said, all in the heat of the moment. But they would get over them. They would be able to reassure each other that it was all in the past.

  She knew him now. All of him. Secrets and all. And she loved him more than she ever had. She was so glad, deep in her heart, that she had stayed to fight for him. Stayed to give them both the chance they deserved.

  Had she ever thought she’d be discussing how to decorate a nursery with him? Whether they should have an animal or a space theme? Whether to go for soft neutrals or rich primary colours? Had she ever thought that they would discuss names? Or what type of birth she wanted?

  She was so looking forward to seeing Sam become a father. Watching him learn and grow, falling in love with their child and having that happy family that she had always dreamed of.

  He’d admitted that he was still scared, but who wouldn’t be? She’d be worried if he wasn’t. Everyone was worried when they had a child. Worried that they’d not be able to look after it properly. Worried that they’d mess up. Worried that it might hurt itself one day.

  But that was life. No one could be wrapped in a bubble, no matter how much you might want to protect someone.

  They would do their best as parents. That was all they could do.

  As they sat on the plane, and she read the book she’d brought along in her hand luggage, she laid her hand on her abdomen. Soon she would feel her baby move. Soon she would feel kicks and flips and all those little movements mothers-to-be talked about. She would walk the halls of the Monterey pregnant. She would deliver mothers whilst heavily pregnant herself, and they would ask her if she was frightened or scared?

  And she knew that she would smile and rub her belly and feel that everything was right in her world.

  *

  Sam glanced at his wife, reading her book on the plane and absently rubbing her belly, and wondered if she was as scared of returning home as he was?

  They’d got everything so right in Paris, and though he was keen to get back to work and restart their life together on a much better footing he still felt nervous.

  He’d told Emily the truth when he’d admitted that he actually quite wanted to be a father. He’d come from a big family. He couldn’t imagine it ever being just him and Em, even if he had rebelled at the idea of her getting pregnant. He’d loved having lots of siblings. Someone to play with outside, riding bikes and flying kites and making dens. And then, when it rained, playing indoors—hide and seek, cards, board games. Before Serena he remembered laughter. The way his younger siblings would look up to him for guidance.

  He’d loved that.

  To have his own child or even children do that would be the most marvellous thing he could think of.

  But what if he became like his father again? It had been a revelation to him that he’d been doing the same thing. Staying away from home. Ignoring his wife. Okay, he’d not been out drinking their money away, but he’d been pretty much useless to her from all accounts.

  Em must have felt so incredibly alone!

  He was incredibly grateful to her, though. Because she had fought for him. Fought for their marriage. Fought for his memories. And she’d not mollycoddled him and lied about how they’d been. She’d told him the truth. Admitted they’d had problems. She’d even been scared to tell him she was pregnant!

  That seemed such a long time ago. Stuck in hospital like that. Finding that out. He’d been so frightened.

  He still was, really. What had happened to Serena would always haunt him, every single day, only now the pain wasn’t as unbearable as it had used to be. He would worry about his own child every night. He knew he would. Perhaps he would have his fair share of sleepless nights. But he knew that every day he woke and found his child smiling up at him from its cot or bed he would feel joy and contentment on a scale he could never have imagined.

  Work he would have to delegate, as he’d promised. Yes, he had a business to run. But what was more important? Work? Or his family?

  He’d always put family first when he was little. He’d had to. Working to bring in money had taken up so much of his time it was probably why he’d found it so easy to let the Monterey consume him when he’d started having problems with Emily.

  But he wouldn’t let it do that any more. He wanted to be more hands-on with the births, not sitting in an office staring at a spreadsheet. That wasn’t what he’d started the business for.

  Sam laid his hand upon his wife’s and leaned over to kiss her.

  When they got back to America he would do everything in his power to make sure they had the life that both of them had dreamed of.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THEY ARRIVED HOME in good time, and the staff met them on the doorstep with huge smiles and welcomes before they hurried to the trunk of their vehicle to remove the suitcases.

  Emily stepped through the door of her house and looked at it for the first time as a place she could call home. She’d always called it the house—never home. But perhaps now it could be? No longer would it be the shell that contained their failing marriage. Now it would be the home where she and Sam would be happy. Where they would raise their children and where they would grow old together.

  Suddenly the white walls and prestigious art on the walls no longer seemed cold or ostentatious. The place looked inviting, filled with possibilities and hope.

  She opened up the French doors out onto the beautiful garden and imagined children chasing each other on the manicured lawns. She could imagine a child marvelling as a butterfly perched on a bloom, or squealing loudly as it ran from a bee. They could have a swing set, a slide, a treehouse put in! They could even get a dog. As a child she’d always wanted one, but Sylvia and Martin had had cats. It was the idea of a dog that warmed her heart. Something large and fluffy with a big pink tongue, that was gentle and kind and would bounce around after her children.

  ‘Doesn’t it feel crazy to be back?’ she said to Sam, who’d followed her out into the garden.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘We’re the ones who have changed and yet it’s this place that feels different.’

  He looked out across the expanse of grass—at the herb garden, the large Pampas grass, the ornamental bridge. ‘Or maybe just our feelings about being in it.’

  She looked at him, squinting in the sun. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going to get changed out of these clothes and maybe take a shower. Fancy joining me?’

  She laughed and nodded. ‘I’ll be up in a minute. You get the water running, I just want to have a quick word with Rosie about dinner tonight.’

  She wanted to continue their mood from Paris. She wanted to create a beautiful meal for them, to cook him some of his favourites, and she wanted to let the staff know they could have an evening off. Then they would be on their own, and she would arrange a nice romantic table for two, with flowers and candlelig
ht and nice music in the background. There was no need for the romance to disappear just because they’d made it back to reality. She knew, more than anyone, the importance of making time for each other.

  She watched Sam head back into the house and then went over to look at the flower garden. There were some pretty blooms there—roses, lilies, aliums. They would be perfect in a little arrangement for the table. She headed back inside to put her plan into action.

  *

  Sam trotted upstairs, keen to rid himself of his travel-worn clothes. Nearly twelve hours on a plane, and he’d spilt coffee on his trouser leg. And then, later, as he’d headed to use the bathroom, he’d had a young girl with a sticky lollipop walk into him.

  He didn’t mind. Accidents happened, and kids always got food on everything. Looking around at their pristine white walls, he smiled as he imagined the housekeepers shooing the children out into the garden so that they didn’t get dirty handprints all over the paint.

  They’d not had pristine white walls when he was a child. Their rooms had had cheap wood panelling, tough and resistant to handprints and smears. Not to mention the amount of soccer balls that had been accidentally bounced off them.

  Soon this house will teem with happy life.

  He was proud of himself. Of how far he’d come during their trip. When they’d left for Paris he’d never imagined he would open up the way he had. But he’d not been able to hold it back. All that wonderful time spent with Emily… He’d been so lucky that she had fought for them the way she had. All she’d gone through—the arguments, the accident, his injury, the induced coma, finding out she was pregnant and fearing his reaction—he couldn’t imagine he would have been that strong!

  Stepping into their bedroom, he began to unbutton his shirt, and as he undid the cuffs he stepped into the en-suite, turned on the shower and checked the water temperature. Perfect. Then he pulled off his shirt and went to put it in the hamper.

  He had a small headache. It had been there since about halfway through the flight, and though he’d taken some painkillers he was due for some more. Where would they be?

  He checked his bedside drawer, but there was nothing in there save for a book, a packet of gum and a phone charger. Perhaps Emily had some in her bedside drawer? He went over to her side of the bed and pulled it open. There, on top of everything, was a white envelope with his name on it—Sam—written in her beautiful familiar handwriting.

  Intrigued, he turned it over. It was sealed. But it was addressed to him, so he stuck his thumb under the flap and ripped it open, and pulled out the folded piece of paper inside.

  He opened it.

  Sam,

  I’m writing you this letter because I need to. There are things I have to say, to get off my chest, and you’re not allowing me the time to sit down and talk to you properly.

  You’re killing me, Sam. It physically feels like you’re ripping out my heart. I never, ever thought that the man who once professed to love me would be able to do this, and hurt me so effectively that I am barely able to function.

  All I want is to start a family. Is that so hard? You could have said yes, and everything would have been fine. You could have said no and explained why, but you never do. You never have. Instead you just storm away. Stay away. And whenever you see me in the corridors at work you walk the other way.

  Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? How small and how unimportant?

  You are my husband, and I love you deeply, but I cannot stay in a relationship that is systematically destroying me.

  Once you gave me hope. Now you only cause me pain. I can’t live like this any more, and because you won’t sit down and talk to me about it I’ve written this letter instead.

  I’m leaving you, Sam. I’m getting out whilst I can, whilst there’s still some of ‘me’ left. I’m not expecting you to come after me. I’m not expecting you to beg me to stay. I don’t think you want that at all.

  I’m doing this for both of us.

  I’m sorry we didn’t work out. I’m sorry we’re so cut off from each other. I’m sorry to end it this way.

  But you never gave me the choice.

  Bye, Sam.

  Emily

  Sam blinked and stared at the words on the page. Was this real? It couldn’t be! But this was Em’s handwriting—he’d recognise it anywhere.

  She was leaving me?

  He went back to the first page and read it again. He’d not known what to expect when he’d started reading, but he’d never expected a Dear John letter.

  She was going to leave me…

  He frowned and read the words one more time, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

  And then it happened.

  A flood of memories came crashing down around him, so fast and so hard he almost went dizzy.

  The wedding music as he walked down the aisle with her, looking beautiful in that off-the-shoulder dress…

  The honeymoon in Paris, tickling her in bed, hearing her laughter as he turned her to face him and began to kiss her frantically…

  Cutting the ribbon to mark the opening of the Monterey, the camera flashes, the cheers, standing in front of the microphone and delivering a speech…

  Emily curled up on the couch, her face red with tears, her hand clutching a crumpled white tissue…

  Arguing in the car. ‘Stop the car! I want to get out!’ she’d screamed at him. He’d turned to look at her, there’d been a blare of horns, he’d looked back at the road and…

  Sam crumpled the letter in his hand, as his missing years returned with full, brutal force.

  *

  Emily had left instructions for the parts of the plan she’d need help with for Rosie to pass on to the rest of the staff.

  ‘So Paris was wonderful, Mrs Saint?’

  ‘It was the best, Rosie—you have no idea.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you. I know it’s been difficult lately.’

  Emily thanked her, blushing. She’d forgotten how much the staff must have seen. Heard. Though Rosie might be staff, she was also a good friend, and had often found Emily crying in one of the rooms in the house. She’d always done what she could. Brought her a hot drink. Something sweet and indulgent. Had tried to cheer her. Rosie had stayed late many a night, just to keep Emily company.

  ‘It’s all going to be much better from now on.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Rosie shut the fridge. ‘I’d already made rosewater pannacotta for your dessert tonight, because they needed to set. Do you still want to have those?’

  Emily nodded. ‘Sounds delightful. It’ll save me some time. I never was any good at desserts—unless I was expected to eat them.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘That’s fine. And I’ve got some lovely fillet steaks in the fridge—you could do them with a red peppercorn sauce?’

  ‘Thanks, Rosie. Now, I’m going upstairs to wash twelve hours of aeroplane off me. Anything I should know about before I go?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’ll pick up the correspondence from Sam’s desk on my way up—he might want to take a look at that. I know how eager he is to get back to work.’

  ‘Why don’t you rest up there for a while? I can bring you up some coffee and cake about three? Would that suit?’

  Emily thought that would be perfect. It would give her and Sam plenty of time to be on their own and christen the bedroom with these new versions of Sam and herself.

  She left the kitchen quarters and headed up to Sam’s office. There was a small pile of mail that had accrued on his desk during their few days away. And she had no doubt that their email accounts would have even more.

  But all of that could wait.

  She and Sam came first.

  She didn’t want to go into their bedroom and remind Sam that he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him, but she assumed he must be in the shower already. She could hear the water running.

  I’ll put it on the bureau.

  Emily opened their bedroom door,
and then jumped slightly when she saw a figure standing by the bed. ‘Oh! Sam! I thought you were in the shower. What are you…?’

  She saw his pale face, his stunned expression. Then she saw what he was holding.

  A piece of crumpled paper. Her notepaper. And on the bed behind him an envelope, torn along the top, with his name written on it.

  The letter.

  ‘Sam—’

  ‘You were leaving me?’

  She’d never heard him so shocked, so stunned, so hurt, so appalled.

  Her heart began to hammer in her chest and her mouth went dry as she feverishly began to try to explain. ‘Sam, I—’

  ‘You told me countless times that we’d been arguing. I saw in my own head the memory of our arguing. But you said we were okay.’

  ‘We were…’

  ‘You were going to leave me. You said I was killing you…’

  ‘Sam!’ Emily couldn’t think of what to say. His heartbreak was clear. His devastation was evident. Tears streamed from her eyes when she recalled what she’d put in that letter. She’d been raw, she’d been hurting, and she’d needed him to know that.

  Why hadn’t she destroyed that letter?

  Because I thought I might have to use it.

  She’d not known—could not have predicted—how well things were going to go. Not from the point they’d been at before his amnesia, before their trip to Paris and the strengthening of their love for one another. She hadn’t meant for him even to see that letter. Not any more! She should have come up here the second they got home and got rid of it. Shredded it. Burnt it.

  But she’d forgotten it.

  And now he’d read it, and he was hurting and upset. There were even unshed tears in his eyes.

  ‘You wrote this after the accident. You put the date.’

  He showed her the letter, but she couldn’t look at it. Couldn’t face the evidence of her written words.

  ‘You said that our marriage was over.’