Poppy lingered in the hallway, her fingers whiteknuckled around a crumpled sheet of paper. The letters smeared in her vision, yet every line sliced her like a razor.
Poppy, Im sorry. Im not ready for this. I cant be a dad. I cant keep living like this. Im leaving. Dont look for me.
The words fell flat, cold, stripped of any feeling.
No we. Only I.
James had always put himself first, but now the truth hit hard.
A soft whimper from tiny Oliver jolted her back to the present. The baby shifted in his cot.
Life was calling.
She slipped the paper into the cupboard and moved toward the kitchenshe had to do something, anything, to keep herself from falling apart.
But the kitchen held the next blow.
On the table lay two halffilled wine glasses, a bottle halfempty, and a plate with a dried slice of cheese. Draped over the back of the chair was a womans scarfone that wasnt hers.
No further explanation was needed.
Poppy inhaled deeply. She didnt scream, didnt weep. An icy resolve settled over her like frost.
She cleared the table, washed the glasses, tossed the rubbish.
She erased every trace of him.
Then she opened the cupboard and pulled out a small boxmarriage certificate, seaside photographs, letters, cinema tickets. Everything that had ever meant us.
She flung the window open and hurled the box onto the street below.
A dull crack sounded beneath. For the first time she felt a weight lift.
At dawn Olivers cries shook her awake. The clock read five oclock.
She sat up, pressed the baby against her chest, and felt a strange calmfor the first time in ages.
She wasnt alone. He was there.
The small, warm, breathing Oliver was the only real thing left to her.
Her body still ached, her hands trembled with exhaustion. The money was running out.
Motherhood hadnt been translated into a paycheck, and the bills wouldnt wait.
She reached for the phone. Her finger hovered over Mum.
But the cold voice in her head rang out:
I told you, Poppy. He isnt the man for you. Now youll have to choose for yourself.
She let the phone slip.
That evening she slipped down to the council basement, where the caretaker, Mr. Stanley, let residents leave forgotten items.
In a corner sat an old baby pramfilthy, its wheels bent.
Poppy cleaned it, patched the tyres, and gently placed Oliver inside.
For the first time in days she stepped outside.
An autumn morning smelled of smoke and fresh breadfrom the corner bakery.
The bakery.
Shed once worked there right after leaving college. Her hands were always dusted with flour, her face flushed from the oven, and shed been happy then.
Maybe it was time to start again.
The next day she went to the bakery.
Everything had changednew sign, new owner.
When she explained she was looking for any workcleaner, night shift, assistantthe round, kindly woman behind the counter studied her closely.
Youve just had a baby, havent you? she asked.
Yes. Poppy replied.
And your husband?
Hes gone.
The woman sighed.
Ive been there myself. Come tomorrow at six. Lets see what you can do.
Poppy left, tears threatening, but they were tears of gratitude, not sorrow.
For the first time in a long while, no one turned her away.
A week later her hands smelled of dough again.
Sleepless nights, a sore back, exhaustionall seemed small compared with the feeling that she could feed her son.
One afternoon, while carrying trays of scones, the shop door rang.
Poppy glanced upher heart froze.
James.
Shaved, new coat, that same cocky grin.
Poppy he began. Ive thought a lot. I want to see my son. I want to come back.
Something stirred inside her, but it no longer hurt.
My son? Fine. Sunday, ten a.m., the park.
He arrived on Sunday, a bouquet and a box of sweets in hand.
Poppy sat on a bench, the pram beside her.
James leaned in, peered inside, and smiled.
Look at him hes just like me!
Poppy met his gaze evenly.
No, she said softly. He looks like the one who never ran away. The one who was here every day while you werent even a thought.
James paled, but she was already standing.
You see, she continued, he doesnt need a man who runs. Neither do I.
She pushed the pram down the path, never looking back.
For the first time in months her stride was steady.
When she got home, she opened the window.
Fresh air rushed in, and Oliver giggled.
Poppy sat beside him and whispered:
You know, little one, everything will be alright now.
And this time she truly believed it.
