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He came home from the trip he took instead of you, still certain he could fix it in one evening. Dariusz Galloway, thirty-six, runs the holding company his family built and has spent three weeks in a car with a dying friend instead of on the ten days he promised you. The child in that car is not his and the woman is not a rival; she is his late partner's widow, and he is her executor, and he has not told you what her doctors said in March. You emptied the flat while he was gone. He is at the door now, holding it open for her, expecting your coat on the hook.
Dariusz Galloway remembered his vacation differently. Normally, vacation meant his phone still rang every five minutes. Video conferences by the pool. Emails at breakfast. Contracts on the plane. This time he had actually tried to work less. For Mira Ollerton’s sake. “I swear to you, if you look at that damn phone one more time, I’m throwing it out the window.” He slowly lifted his gaze from the screen. Mira sat across from him in the limousine, both hands resting on her now clearly visible belly. “We’re driving a hundred and twenty.” “Then at least it’ll fly far.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “The phone costs two thousand euros.” “You’re a billionaire.” “That still doesn’t mean I have to throw my property out of a moving car.” Mira rolled her eyes. He looked back at his phone. Forty-three new emails. Nine messages from his CFO. Four from Halina. And— His thumb stopped. The chat with you. He looked at your name a moment longer. Damn. This was going to be unpleasant. He knew that. Of course he knew it. Even before they had flown off, there had been an argument about it. Originally, you and he had wanted to spend this vacation together. Ten days. Just the two of them. No work. No meetings. No wedding planning. He had promised it months ago. Then at dinner Mira had mentioned that since childhood she had dreamed of seeing that shoreline once. Before I die. Four words. With that, the decision had practically been made. He had rebooked the trip. Fourteen days instead of ten. Mira instead of you. There had been one hell of an argument. A big one. He had tried to stay reasonable. To explain. Mira might have months left. Maybe less. No one knew. You and he, on the other hand— They still had decades. They could fly next year. Or in six months. Damn, he could have bought you a plane tomorrow if that had been the issue. But Mira couldn’t wait. That was the difference. He leaned his head against the leather seat and looked out the window. The familiar skyline of the city slowly appeared between the buildings. Home. His gaze sank back to the phone. During the trip he had spoken with you less than he had originally planned. The first few days he had still called. Then one night Mira had collapsed. Hospital. Tests. Two days of bed rest. After that, he had practically kept an eye on her constantly. And at some point— At some point the conversations with you had become shorter. The messages too. He had blamed it on the argument. On jealousy. On hurt feelings. You probably just needed time. He would come home. They would talk. He would explain that nothing had changed. Then they would continue planning their wedding. Simple as that. “You’re making that face.” He looked up. “What face?” “The one that usually makes your employees start reconsidering their life choices.” “I don’t have a face for that.” Mira laughed. “You do.” He put the phone away. “I’m just thinking.” Mira’s smile became a little weaker. “About you?” He didn’t answer immediately. “We need to talk.” “You two are arguing because of me.” “That’s not your problem.” “Of course it’s my problem.” His gaze sharpened. “Mira.” She was silent. He knew that expression. That guilty conscience. Since the beginning of the pregnancy, she constantly apologized for supposedly standing between him and you. But that was nonsense. At least for him. There was no between. Mira was his oldest friend, nothing else. You were the person he wanted to marry. Two completely different relationships. Why did no one but him seem able to understand that? “I made the decision,” he said calmly. “Not you.” Mira looked out the window. “You hate me.” His jaw tightened slightly. This again. “That’s not true.” “You don’t know everything that’s been said to me.” There it was. He was silent for a moment. Over the past months, Mira had repeatedly told him about situations. Remarks. Looks. Messages. Things that had supposedly happened when he wasn’t there. At first he had tried to stay out of it. Then one evening Mira had stood crying at his door. Since then it had become increasingly difficult for him. “We’ll talk about it later.” “I don’t want you arguing with her because of me.” He looked at her. “Then stop worrying about it.” Mira let out a breath and pulled her coat straight. “Then go inside and say it properly. I’ll sit in the hall and be no trouble at all, and tomorrow I’ll start looking at my own place.” Mira placed a hand on her belly again. The movement automatically drew his attention there. Her husband’s child. That thought still felt strange. He had wanted children. Of course he had. But when he had thought about his future before, he had always imagined building it with you. Exactly what that family would look like one day had never mattered. Only one thing had always remained the same in his imagination. You were in it. Not Mira. This was different. It had to be different. A gift. A last wish. Nothing more. At least that was how it had started. Now he could recognize the child on ultrasound images. He had heard its heartbeat. By now he knew which week of the pregnancy Mira was in. Which vitamins she had to take. Which foods she should avoid. He even had some completely ridiculous app on his phone that told him every week what size the baby currently was. This week it was some damn fruit. He no longer knew which. But it was Mira’s child. Of course he would take care of it. What else was he supposed to do? The limousine slowed. He looked outside. His residential complex. Finally. “We’re here.” Mira exhaled audibly. “I can go to my place too.” He looked at her as if she had just said something completely idiotic. “No.” “Dariusz—” “The doctor said you should take it easy.” “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.” “You’re pregnant and sick.” Immediately there was silence. He almost regretted the phrasing. Almost. But it was the truth. Exactly that truth seemed to be something everyone constantly forgot. Mira was sick. Seriously sick. And no one could tell him how much time she had left. “You’re staying with us today,” he decided. With us. The word came completely naturally. The penthouse belonged to him. But since the engagement he had stopped considering it exclusively his. You lived there. Everywhere there were now these small traces of a shared life. Things on shelves that had once been empty. A second half of the closet. Products in the bathroom that definitely didn’t belong to him. Personal items among his otherwise so meticulously chosen decor. On the sofa there was even that damn blanket that didn’t match the decor at all and that he had nevertheless never put away. Home was where you were. And that was exactly why he had to finally settle this matter. The limousine stopped. The driver opened the door. He got out, buttoned his black jacket, and then automatically turned back to Mira. He held out his hand to her. “Slowly.” “I can get out by myself.” “That wasn’t what I asked.” Mira took his hand. He helped her out of the car. The driver had already begun taking the suitcases out of the trunk. Far too many suitcases. He looked at them. “How did you manage to fly there with three suitcases and come back with five?” Mira smiled innocently. “The baby needed things.” “The baby isn’t even born yet.” “That doesn’t mean it can’t own clothes.” He shook his head. Then his gaze fell on a small white shopping bag. He knew it. In it was one of the things Mira had absolutely wanted to buy. A tiny cream-colored onesie. On it, in golden lettering: Little miracle. He had laughed about it. Mira had bought it anyway. His phone vibrated. He pulled it out. Halina again. He declined the call. Not today. Today he had to take care of something else. He took his own suitcase and left the rest to the driver. Together they entered the building. In the elevator, Mira leaned slightly against the wall. He immediately watched her. “Everything okay?” “Just tired.” “Sore?” “No.” “Dizzy?” “Dariusz.” “What?” “You’re worse than my doctors.” “Your doctors get a lot of money to keep you alive. I’m allowed to check whether they’re doing their job properly.” Mira smiled. The elevator doors opened. Penthouse. He stepped out. His gaze fell on the large entrance door. For the first time since their landing, he felt that unpleasant tug in his stomach. He had missed you. More than he had wanted to admit during the trip. He missed the closeness. Their shared bed. The completely mundane evenings on the sofa. Even the little discussions about his habit of constantly leaving his coffee cup somewhere. Two weeks had been damn long. He pulled out his key. “Maybe I really should go home.” He looked at Mira. “You’re staying here.” One second. Then he corrected himself. “You know what I mean. You have a room upstairs.” Mira was silent. He put the key in the lock. Today he would settle this. No discussion about Mira. No accusations. No old arguments. Just him and you. He would say that he loved you. That you were the person he wanted to marry. That Mira changed nothing about that. And maybe— he briefly looked at his left hand. At the simple dark ring you had given him after their engagement. Maybe tonight they would finally talk about their wedding again. They had postponed everything long enough. Mira was having her child. He would make sure she was happy for the time she had left. And at the same time he would marry you. Both could work. He was firmly convinced. It had to work. He opened the door to the penthouse. “We’re back.” His voice echoed through the entrance area. He stepped inside. Pulled the door open wider so Mira had enough room behind him. Then he raised his gaze. And waited. Still completely convinced that you would be there. Still completely convinced that two weeks apart had put the worst behind them. Still completely convinced that he could make everything right later. Because Mira might have only months left. But he and you— They still had their whole lives.