Too Late To Beg

TAMSIN

I stared at him.

The words didn't land. Not at first.

"Say that again."

James held my gaze. "Isla is pregnant. With my baby."

I gripped the doorframe. The floor shifted beneath me.

"It happened that night," he continued, voice steady, as if he were discussing the weather. "Two months ago. The night we... the accident."

Accident.

That's what he'd called it when he stumbled home reeking of bourbon and someone else's perfume. When he'd collapsed at my feet, sobbing so hard I thought he might choke on it.

An accident.

"She's almost eight weeks along," he added. "The doctor confirmed it yesterday."

I let out a sound. Sharp and brittle. Might have been a laugh in some other woman's life. "So that's why you were at the hospital."

"Tammy, I know this is a shock." James stepped closer. "But listen to me. This could be a good thing."

"A good thing."

"Yes." His hands found my shoulders. I didn't have the strength to shake them off. "We've been trying for a baby for years. You know how desperately we've wanted this. And now we have a chance."

"A chance," I echoed.

"Isla has agreed to carry the baby to term, then step away." His grip tightened, as if he could press understanding into me through sheer force. "The baby would be ours, Tammy. Our child. Everything we've been waiting for."

Ours.

Tears came before I could stop them. I didn't bother wiping them away.

"Don't you see?" His voice took on that coaxing quality he used when explaining things to difficult clients. "No one has to lose here. Isla moves on with her life. We get our complete family. Everyone wins."

I looked past him.

Isla sat on the couch, picture-perfect stillness. One hand rested low on her stomach in a gesture I recognized from countless pregnancy announcements. She wasn't crying. Wasn't performing. Just sitting there with her eyes downcast, expression serene.

She looked like a Madonna painting.

"Her pregnancy is high-risk," James continued. "She'll need constant care. If you could take some time off work, maybe a year, help me look after her until the baby comes, everything would be perfect."

Perfect.

He tilted his head, searching my face like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Why can't you see that?"

I said nothing.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Met his eyes.

"If you'd shown up last night like you promised," I said quietly, "you would have found out that I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed had weight.

James went still. "What?"

"I'm pregnant." Each word came out deliberately. "With your child. I found out yesterday morning. Spent all afternoon planning how to tell you. Thought you'd be happy." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "Silly me."

His hands dropped from my shoulders. "Tammy, you're..."

"Pregnant," I finished. "Yes."

I turned my head toward Isla. She was staring at me now, her careful composure finally slipping. Her fingers curled against her stomach in a gesture that might have been protective or possessive. Hard to tell.

"What does it even matter?" I asked no one in particular.

Then I turned and began to walk toward our bedroom.

Behind me, James called my name, but I kept walking.

In the bedroom, I dragged my suitcase from the closet. Threw it on the bed hard enough to make the frame creak.

My hands shook as I yanked open drawers. Grabbed clothes. Didn't fold them. Didn't care.

For three years, James had been everything I'd convinced myself didn't exist.

He'd pursued me relentlessly after we met. Wore down every objection I had. Made me feel chosen in a way that rewired something fundamental in my chest. When his family looked down their aristocratic noses at me, he stood between us like a wall. When they blamed me for our empty nursery, he defended me.

For three years, we'd been perfect.

Then Isla Parker came back from wherever wealthy, beautiful women go to become more of both.

The changes started small. A missed dinner here. A late-night phone call there. James canceling plans because Isla needed something only he could provide.

When I complained, he called me unreasonable. When I asked for boundaries, he called it jealousy.

I'd clung to the memory of who we'd been before Isla. The man who'd made me believe in fairy tales. Told myself it would pass once she left again.

It didn't pass.

Two months ago, James came home looking like he'd been hit by a truck. He dropped to his knees on our kitchen floor and wept like a child.

They'd been drinking. One thing led to another. He didn't even remember it happening until he woke up in her bed with his clothes scattered across her floor.

He begged. Swore he'd cut her out completely. Promised I'd never have to share him with her again.

And I'd forgiven him.

Because I remembered the three years before Isla. The man who'd loved me so fiercely I thought nothing could touch us.

For a while, it worked. James came back to me. Isla vanished. No more midnight calls, no more emergency brunches. It felt like healing.

I'd actually believed I had my husband back.

The door opened behind me.

"Tammy, please." James's voice cracked. "Don't do this."

I didn't turn around. Just kept packing.

"It was an accident," he said. "You know that. We were drunk. I never planned any of this. I never wanted to hurt you."

I zipped the suitcase shut with more force than necessary, and finally looked at him.

"You're asking me to stay in this house," I said slowly, "while your mistress carries your baby. You're asking me to put my career on hold, my life on pause, to care for her. So she can give birth to your child."

"She's not my mistress."

"Then what is she, James?" My voice climbed. "Your best friend? The woman you accidentally slept with? The woman you're now asking me to play nursemaid to for the next twelve months?"

"Tammy..."

"She's supposed to be your best friend," I cut him off. "And I'm supposed to be your wife. Both of us can't be in the same house carrying your children. I won't have it. I won't raise illegitimate babies alongside my own."

He stared at me like I'd suggested we burn the house down.

"It's either my baby or hers," I said. "Though I think last night made it pretty clear which one you'd choose."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" I laughed, and it came out wrong. "You chose her over me last night. Dismissed me like a secretary who'd interrupted an important meeting. Brought her into our home. And now you want me to play happy families while she incubates your backup plan?"

He dragged both hands through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice had gone raw. "I was terrified. Last night, I was cold to you because I thought if I didn't support her completely, she'd get rid of the baby. I didn't know what else to do."

I studied him. This man I'd married. This stranger wearing his face.

Then I crossed my arms.

"Fine," I said.

Hope sparked in his eyes like a match strike.

"If you want me to stay," I continued, "I'll stay. If you want my forgiveness, you'll have it."

His breath caught. "Thank you. God, Tammy, thank you..."

"On one condition."

He went still. "Anything."

"Isla terminates the pregnancy."

The hope in his eyes died so fast I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

He stared at me in stunned silence.