31 October, 11.30 a.m. Things couldn’t get any worse. He knows. I know he does. The way he asked if there was something I needed to tell him was obvious, and when he left, I looked around the flat and realised I’d thrown a leaflet for one of the tests in the bin. I’m so fucking stupid! I wanted to tell him. I really did. I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth, especially after he told me about his dad. I was so scared for him. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and I’d do anything to protect him from that kind of pain. Everything is such a mess. He stormed out, and I have no idea where he’s gone or when he’ll be back, or even if he’ll be back. I feel sick, and it’s not just because of Adam. It’s funny how I went without a single symptom, but now that I know I’m pregnant, my body seems to want to ram it in my face from the moment I wake up. At least I haven’t actually been sick.
