Love is a Place Ch. 04: The End

Dearest, most beloved reader,

Please believe me when I tell you that I mean this with love: fuck off.

Seriously, off you fuck. This is not for you. You don't want to read this. You'll hate it. Seriously, I hate it. The beta-readers hated it (thank you two - I won't name you to avoid tarring you with this brush, but I appreciate it massively).

Go read something else. Go read some Robin Watergrove or SophiaY. Go and read everything by proseinagarden and Two21b instead. Honestly, you'll thank me for it, because they are awesome and the latter two will be relevant for a future story.

Not this one though.

Because you aren't going to read it, are you?

Are you?

No... don't. Please.

*sigh*

Look, why do you think it took over a year after Chapter 3 for me to produce Chapter 4 when every third piece of feedback I've received has been asking for more Samantha? (Be careful what you wish for folks!) It's because the only story arc I could think of for Samantha was this one. It was the only outcome that made sense for her. And you are going to hate it. Truthfully, I spent a year trying to think of something different, but Samantha wouldn't cooperate. I deliberately distracted myself from it with the whole Ramona and Liz story sequence - that's 114,000+ words of avoidance strategy! I even thought about not writing this, but by then my mind had slotted it into the overall story arc and I can't write "Happiness" until I'd written this, so, here it is.

Doesn't mean you have to read it. So don't.

So, again, with love and with due care for your emotional well-being, I implore you to fuck off.

Why are you still here?

Really?

I can keep this up all day.

Look, have you even read Love is a place chapters 1, 2 and 3? Because if you haven't, what are you even doing here?

Also, this story will make no sense if you haven't read Eve & Lucy. So, stop wasting time here and go and read that. It also happens after the two Clara stories. Yeah, I know they aren't in the lesbian category, but trust me, you'll like them.

So, off you go. Bye. Take care now. Have a nice day.

*sigh*

Alright, fine. You were warned.

__________________________________________________

They would probably have time for sex tomorrow, Samantha thought, though probably just a quickie.

If not, this would be the last time she and Sarah would make love.

Surrounded by the citrus sounds of Sarah's sighs, Samantha slipped again between her lover's thighs. She had already brought Sarah to one massive, meringue-flavoured, mouth-given orgasm, and she wanted to give Sarah more. Normally, as had been her habit for years now, she would use a vibrating wand to bring her girlfriend of these last six, perfect years to a screaming and shuddering climax. She still intended to do so. But she wanted more first. More of her honey taste, more of her tangy trembling, which seemed to sound even more lemony when Samantha's ears were between her lover's legs than when she lent above her.

Samantha felt Sarah stiffen with surprise as her tongue traced the delicate sides of her labia once more, lapping at the liquid there. Her fingers flexed inside her love's slippery walls that felt like sunshine.

"Oh, God, baby," Sarah moaned.

Samantha winced a little at that, felt her chest begin to fold, fought it, fought it hard, the way she'd learned to over the years. She refocused.

Nipping lower lips between hers, she tugged lightly, as her fingers wormed and squirmed within Sarah's tunnel.

Sarah flexed against her bonds, blind behind the scarf Samantha had tied across her face. It was a first for them, a rare novelty in the bedroom that Sarah had been only too happy to try out. Samantha was delighted at how it prevented Sarah now from interfering, from reaching down to pull her up for a kiss as she often would. Not that she minded kisses, of course, which always sounded like salted caramel after cunnilingus, but she loved having Sarah's body all to herself, with unimpeded access, allowing her to tease that swollen bud that tasted of Magna, Samantha's favourite joke. It had taken her a while to think of the joke, but she was very proud of it, even if Sarah had insisted she could not share it with anyone else, not even Amanda and Carrie, or Kate and Priya.

"Sarah, did you know you taste like Magna?"

"Don't you mean "Magnum", beautiful?"

"Oh, no, not the ice-cream. You taste like graduating Magna Cum Laude!"

Smiling at the thought, she pressed the flat of her tongue against Sarah's clit, which twitched and pulsed. Her fingers stroked up inside, finding, as she always seemed able to, that supple, subtle spot inside that felt like rain on window panes. She slid her other hand over Sarah's clenching core, keeping the pressure firm, as her palm dragged over Sarah's ribs up, up to her beautiful breasts, bringing jasmine scented mewls from her bucking girlfriend.

Samantha meant to enjoy all of this and was actively making memories, recording it all, so that she could recall in the future. Whether such times would be a torment or a balm remained to be seen.

Because though Sarah was oblivious to the fact, Samantha was acutely aware of their rapidly diminishing opportunities for physical intimacy. She needed to make the most of those little that remained. It was all that was stopping her chest from collapsing.

For what had started as a Puzzle had become an insurmountable Problem, one that required Action and Change and the end of this place called Love.

* * *

The Puzzle first came to Samantha's attention at Kate and Priya's wedding. Many years of friendship and working closely together on Samantha's PhD, which Kate has supervised, had finally transformed Dr Summers (or Dr Patel-Summers as she was soon to be) into Kate in Samantha's mind. Both Samantha and Sarah were invited, as were their friends Amanda and Carrie. Samantha was also pleased to see her friend Clara working there as the photographer.

"Well, of course," said Sarah, when Samantha pointed this out, "we recommended her to them."

"Oh, yes. But I hadn't realised that they had booked her."

The ceremony had been lovely and, despite the many musical interludes, Samantha had coped well with it. Sarah had been very moved, and had clutched her hand throughout, the shifting pressure fluctuating from a subtle cinnamon to a powerful ginger.

Yet, after the ceremony, things had become challenging for Samantha. The wedding breakfast was noisy and raucous, the orangery at Goldney Hall creating strange echoes. The weather had not been great, thus guests all piled inside, rather than enjoying the gorgeous gardens, which was rather a shame. Samantha found herself having to use the ear plugs Sarah had suggested she bring with her. Amanda and Carrie, and also Mike, Carrie's dad, had been very attentive to her, but she still found it very hard to engage fully in conversations.

Things had only gotten worse for her at the party afterwards. Naturally, there had been a live band and lots of dancing. Samantha had managed to stay for the first dance, and then allowed herself to be held by Sarah for one song, before insisting Sarah stay, and withdrawing to a small side room before her chest collapsed.

Pleasingly, Sol was there assisting Clara, so Samantha was able to chat with Dawn for a while. Their discussion of the varying merits of base e versus base 10 for representing the data from Samantha's laboratory results had been entertaining and enlightening. But then Xīyáng had wanted to go dancing, so they said goodbye. Sarah, Carrie and Amanda had checked on her regularly, while Kate had brought her parents to meet her at one point. Yet she could not help but feel extraneous, forgotten, like a shrivelled grape left on the stalk, wilting in the fruit bowl, when all the rest had been plucked.

It made her wonder if she would ever be able to give Sarah a wedding that both of them would enjoy. She was aware that a wedding was not the same as a marriage, yet it had been the start of the Puzzle that Samantha would later, her chest tight and the stench of epoisses in her ears, formulate thus:

Puzzle no. 234

Given our disparate likes and dislikes, especially as regards our free time, how can I be the wife that Sarah both needs and deserves?

* * *

"May I use the wand on you again, Sarah?" Samantha whispered, her lips lightly kissing Sarah's neck as Sarah pressed and squirmed her body, no longer twitching but still humming, like freshly-baked pain aux raisins, against Samantha.

"Uh-uh," replied Sarah, grinding her thigh between Samantha's legs, "it's your turn."

"But I do so love giving you orgasms," Samantha said, as her lips moved up Sarah's throat to her mouth. "They sound so buttery and make me feel so extra."

Sarah's mouth opened to welcome Samantha's, and they hummed into their kiss.

"Mmmmm," Sarah sighed, "I love you giving them to me. But it makes me feel extra too to give them to you."

They kissed some more, little bursts of orange blossom and allspice.

"Please," Sarah said, her voice laced with cream, "please Samantha, please sit on my face."

Carefully, aware as always of her inherent clumsiness, always worried about hurting her lover, she straddled Sarah.

Sarah's eyes, laden with love, threatening to crack open her rib cage, gazed up at Samantha. Her mind was furiously photographing this, filing this delightful sight, this peach singing portrait, away in her memories. For it might be the last time Samantha would see it.

She slipped her hands into Sarah's hair and shuddered and shook as her girlfriend's tongue slipped inside her. Her chest swelled many times beyond its physical limits and she soared on candy clouds as Sarah sucked sweetly on her clit.

"Oh, Sarah," she sighed, "I love you so much."

* * *

It had been on a bus where Samantha first got a sense of the shape and scale of the Problem behind the Puzzle, still hazy yet, but looming and inevitable on the mental mountaintops of the future. She felt then, instinctively, in her bones, where the scent of saltpetre permeated, that it could lead to Disaster.

It should have been a moment of joy. They - she, Sarah, Priya and Kate - were returning to Bristol from London. They had spent the night at Carrie and Amanda's, while Louise and Jim had stayed with Lydia and Keith, who they were going to spend a few days with. They had been to see the National's revival of Caryl Churchill's Top Girls. Samantha had been indignant on behalf of Amanda at first, as she spent the whole of the first act mutely serving the others as the nameless waitress, while Carrie and Suzy had shone as Isabella Bird and Pope Joan. But in Act Two, in the roles of Kit and Shona, Amanda had stolen scenes, in Samantha's estimation anyway, and her chest had swelled with pride for her friend.

Yet, after the pleasant buzz of it all, the petrol scented shrieks of small children on the busy bus back to Bristol had threatened to spoil the whole event.

And when Sarah had reached for a snotty and snivelling girl, to the grateful relief of a harried mother struggling with a baby at the breast, dandling her on her knee and grinning at her as she did her best to cheer her, Samantha's chest began to fold. Not because of the toddler's grizzling, which smelled like an unwashed cheesegrater. Not because of the looks from other passengers when she covered her ears, to blot out that hideous smell.

No, her chest began to bend inwards because she realised then that Sarah was born to be a mother, and she most certainly was not.

This would be a Problem.

Luckily, her PhD research on coding pluripotent stem cells occupied a lot of Samantha's mental space, but the Problem hovered there, an emotional event horizon, glowering and growing in her mental landscape, the consequence clouds bubbling up, anvil shapes offering clues as to the siren-scented storms to come. She threw herself into baking and research and sex, anything to keep her focussed in the now, to avoid confronting and preparing for the doom approaching.

Finally, at Christmas, Samantha realised that she could not ignore the flood warnings any longer. The pressure on her chest was too much, the fight to keep her head above the feelings pressing in her, threatening to drown her in the stench of muddy pitches and dentist drills.

The Problem was here.

They had been on a rare visit to Sarah's parents. Samantha knew she wasn't exactly persona non grata - Sarah's parents had accepted the fait accompli of their relationship and knew that there was no point trying to push them apart. They barely bothered with Sarah. Samantha strongly suspected that it was only really her sisters, Jenny and Molly, that Sarah cared about seeing.

Both were there that day, Molly, two years Sarah's junior, bearing a new baby girl, Milly.

Sarah had gushed over this tiny creature, cooing over her as she cradled her. The sounds had felt sticky to Samantha, like too much honey, and her jaw felt stuck together. The brief seconds she had been forced to hold this newborn bundle had been among the most awkward in her recent memory. She had sat stiffly, feeling loud and sharp, as this minute human being dozed in her rigid arms, a grimace plastered on her face.

"Lovely smile, Samantha," Sarah had said.

"She sounds of ammonia," Sarah had replied, unthinkingly, the stress of the situation bursting through those politeness strategies she'd painfully learned and rehearsed over the years.

"Does she?"

To Samantha's shock, Sarah had buried her nose in the baby's stomach, sniffed hard and then pronounced that Milly needed a change and that Samantha was a natural.

"Ooops, better give her a fresh nappy then! Come to Mummy, sweetness," Molly had said as she retrieved her child from Samantha's wary grasp.

"You relax! I'll do it," Sarah had offered.

"Yeah, let 'er, Mol," Sarah's Mum had interjected, "might as well let her get a taste of being a Mum. 'S not like she'll get much chance."

"What's that supposed to mean, Mum?" Sarah had replied, hotly, her voice like wet dog.

"Well, look at the pair of yuh. Something's missing if you want kids Sarah."

"Errr, Mum, we've got two wombs between us? All we'd need is a donor: I could ask Stuart or Samantha could ask Steve."

The idea of her womb being filled, being offered up so casually, had brought the sound of bile to Samantha's ears. The crushing pressure on her chest had spread up her neck and down her sides, causing her to twitch. She fought the desire to cover her ears, her arms shaking. The taste of being walled up, brick by brick, into a living prison, rolled up her body.

"Yer right. Will you look at that? You'll never be parents." Sarah's mother's sneers squeezed Samantha's stomach like a hydraulic press.

"Oh, piss off Mum! For God's sake, you've got enough bloody grandkids, what the hell does it matter? Come on Samantha, let's go."

It had taken Sarah's firm, velvety grip to help Samantha throw off the rigid mortar-flavoured terror and pull herself from the sofa.

She was shaking by the time they got back to Samantha's parents' house. It had been a long time before her chest finally unfolded.

Days later, when Samantha could finally think about the Problem without feeling like she was being buried alive, she began to review her notes.

It did not take long.

Problem Sub: Sarah No. 17

Sarah would like to have children. I would not.

Actions:

At that stage, there was nothing there. Samantha had not been able to bring herself to consider what Action she might need to take and what Change that might cause. Yet, even as her ribs bent and flexed along their hair-line hinges, she realised with salt-scented certainty that she had to act.

She opened her email and wrote to Dr Alison.

Seconds later a reply popped up.

Thank you for your email. I am currently on maternity leave for the rest of the academic year. Please therefore direct any inquiries regarding Special Educational Needs provision to...

Samantha stopped reading. Dr Alison would not be able to help her here. Quite apart from anything else, Samantha realised that, as a new mother, Dr Alison would not be able to give her impartial advice.

On further reflection, as she ran through a mental list of her friends and family members, Samantha realised that none of them would be able to give impartial advice. All of them were just as close, if not more so, to Sarah and, it seemed to Samantha, they were all strangely invested in her relationship with Sarah. This was something Samantha struggled to comprehend: why other people seemed to find happiness in her own happiness.

It took Samantha several days to conceive an idea for where she might seek advice to solve her problem.

The internet.

Deciding that, as she could not verify the qualifications of those giving advice online, she needed as broad a sample as possible, she posted her query to a variety of forums and message boards, including Literotica, as well as asking several AI programmes. She formulated the Problem as the following question:

"I love my girlfriend deeply. We have been together for over 5 years now. I would happily spend the rest of my life with her. However, although we have mutual friends, we do not have many shared interests. More importantly, I have come to realise that I do not, under any circumstances, want children and believe that I would be a terrible parent. My girlfriend, however, adores babies and children and would make a wonderful mother.

What should I do?"

It was fortunate that Samantha had chosen to post the question on a weekend when Sarah was away (at an old school classmate's hen-do in Magaluf). The responses were unequivocal and near unanimous and left Samantha shaking and choking on the floor, her chest pressed under the weight of a mountain of PE changing rooms.

She was being selfish. She needed to end things with Sarah.

It took her seven hours to get up from the floor.

* * *

Now that Samantha knew what Action and Change was required, her focus kicked in. With her mental blinkers engaged, she did not consider what this meant for herself, how she would feel, what the consequences would be. She was doing this for Sarah, which brought a comforting taste of satisfaction, for all that it was laced with lemon (not the zest, nor the flesh, but the pith).

Samantha would need to leave. Her parents would not make Sarah vacate the house they shared, and Samantha would write to them to make doubly sure of this. Knowing Sarah as she did, and taking her own behaviour all those years ago as a model, she realised that she would need to disappear from Sarah's life. Otherwise, she strongly suspected that Sarah, self-sacrificing as she was, would track Samantha down, try to win her back, lie to her and claim that she didn't want children.

A possibility came with an invitation to apply for an adjunct professor post in a US university. An academic she had been corresponding with there sent it to her, and said she would provide a reference.

The destination decided upon, she needed to make sure Sarah could not follow her. Samantha's tunnel-vision was such that this was now her end, her goal. She gave no thought as to how it would make her feel to cut herself off from friends and family.

Sarah, of course, noticed that something was up, but put it down to stress regarding her forthcoming viva voce and PhD submission deadline. Samantha was quick to accept this as the cause of her odder than normal behaviour when it was suggested. (Actually, her PhD had been complete for some weeks, and it hadn't occurred to Samantha to worry about her viva voce.)

Only once did Samantha nearly give the game away, towards the end, when her new passport in her new name had arrived, her ticket was booked and the letters written. She was batch-cooking in the kitchen, wanting to ensure that the freezer was fully stocked with simple, healthy meals for Sarah.

"You look down, Samantha," Sarah said, sidling up to her beloved in the kitchen, and slipping her arm through Samantha's. "What's upsetting you?"

The directness of the question meant the honest answer dropped from Samantha's lips. "I'm really not looking forward to us being apart. I am going to miss you terribly."

Sarah turned her girlfriend gently to face and took her in her arms, kissing her lovingly. "Samantha, sweetie, it's just for two nights." Sarah was going to a wedding in Kent. Samantha had been invited as a plus one, but it was a classmate she didn't remember, so decided not to attend. It was also the perfect opportunity for her to leave without Samantha noticing. "I'll be back on Sunday."

"Yes," said Samantha, hugging her tight, trying to imprint the zesty sounds of Sarah's breathing into her memory. "You will."

* * *

Sarah went to work on the Friday that she left. She was only doing a half day; another former classmate, Matt, would pick her up and drive them down to Kent.

"Come home for lunch, Sarah," Samantha said, "before you go."

"Of course."

In the morning, Samantha packed, hiding her suitcase under the bed. She took a pill, hoping it would be enough to prevent her chest from folding so far she could not function: she did not want to escape the grief fully, for the grief would be a reflection of the love she felt, and she wanted to hold onto that for as long as possible.

She had not needed the pills for many years, though she had been using halves here and there over the past couple of weeks.

She left the house once, to visit the florist and establish a standing order for Sarah's birthday for the next decade, and to go to the post office and send seven letters, guaranteed next day delivery. To her parents; to Stuart, her brother; to Clara and the Solar system; to Amanda and Carrie; to Kate and Priya; to Louise; to Lydia. She wanted people to be there for Sarah when she came home on Sunday so Sarah wouldn't be alone when she read her own letter.

Luckily, Sarah came home so excited she missed the way Samantha fought to stop from trembling.

"They've approved them! The busaries I've been pushing for. Six more for local students, with two of them reserved for students with SEN and two for BME students. I just found out this morning."

"Well done, Sarah! You worked really hard on those," Samantha said.

This meant that Sarah spent much of what was to be their last meal together - a sumptuous spread of home-baked olive bread, home-made hummus and tapenade, apple and cashew salad, fresh frittata and lemon ginger tart for pudding - talking about her plans to promote these in local schools. "I already started drafting a press release to get out, though the University press office will need to approve it. Oh my God, Samantha, that's delicious," she said, her eyes closing in pleasure as she chewed. "Seriously, you've out done yourself with that tapenade. What did you make it with?"

"I made it with love," Samantha said.

"Of course you did." Sarah leaned in to kiss her girlfriend.

As they finished their meal, the crushing pressure on Samantha's chest was building, like the sensation of a dentist appointment approaching, only twenty times worse and even more inevitable. She needed a distraction. She needed Sarah.

"Oh, leave that, Sarah, I'll do it later," she said, as Sarah started to stack the plates.

Instead, Samantha pushed her girlfriend up against the wall.

"Samantha!"

"Oh, I apologise. Did I hurt you?"

"No, just surprised me! But in a good way," Sarah said as she reached up to kiss Samantha.

The taste of Sarah's tongue in her mouth was sour-sweet, like persimmon, but Samantha couldn't get enough. She slipped her hand down Sarah's body, under the band of her skirt, under her knickers, to cup her girlfriend's mound. Sarah squeaked in surprise, more at this change in Samantha than indignation, then moaned as Samantha massaged her there.

"Oh God babe, mmmmm."

It wasn't enough for Samantha, especially when Sarah started to unbutton Samantha's trousers. With the pill's deadening effect coursing through her bloodstream she was unsure whether she would even be able to get wet, let alone orgasm.

She sank to her knees in front of Sarah, pulling down her girlfriend's skirt and underwear, and licked up Sarah's left thigh to bury her nose in Sarah's bush. She smelled of musk and morning cuddles.

Bending her knees a little, Sarah clutched at Samantha's head even as Samantha's fingers sank into her, pushing and stretching. The sounds Sarah made tasted of honey and holidays, books by the fire. Samantha wanted this forever, but the thought that she couldn't pressed at her chest even as she bathed Sarah's clit.

Sarah screamed to her second orgasm seconds before the doorbell rang.

"Oh God, oh God Samantha, oh wow." Sarah pulled her love to her feet and kissed her hard, tasting herself on Samantha's lips. She clutched Samantrha to her and shook a little.

The doorbell rang again.

"Coming!" Sarah yelled. "Well, I was," she said in a softer voice to Samantha, before pulling up her skirt and going to the door.

Samantha watched her go, sadly.

Voices came from the door.

"Do you want to come in Matt?"

"Better not. I'm on double yellows."

"Okay, just let me grab my bags, be there in a second."

Samantha heard Sarah move into the bedroom and get her small suitcase. Like an automaton, she moved stiffly down the hall.

"Alright Sammy?" said the guy waiting in the doorway. Samantha couldn't be sure, but she thought they'd been in some classes together, years ago now. She didn't really remember him.

"Hello. Nice to see you." They were empty words, triggered by years of rehearsal.

Samantha came through. "Can you stick that in the boot please Matt?" she said, passing over her suitcase.

"Oh? Yeah, sure." He went.

Sarah turned to Samantha, who was furiously fighting the folding in her chest and trying to keep the stench of putrefaction from making her vomit. Sarah's hands went to her waist and she kissed Samantha lovingly.

"Thanks for that babe, I'll be blissed out the whole way."

"I will miss you so much," Samantha said, meaning every morpheme.

"Me too! But I'll be back on Sunday."

"Yes. Yes you will."

A horn came from the open door, sounding like the end of the world.

"I'd better go."

"I love you, Sarah."

"Love you too! Have a good weekend! Maybe call Dawn if you get lonely?"

"Okay." Samantha wouldn't. She had already sent her letter.

Then the door closed. And Samantha was flooded by the taste of loneliness.

Trying valiantly not to drown, she cleaned up the remains of their lunch, folded and put away the laundry and tidied the flat.

She got her suitcase out from under the bed. Then she placed Sarah's letter on the kitchen table, weighted down with a pot plant so it wouldn't blow away. She removed her SIM card from her phone and left it there too.

Then, feeling like Giles Corey, and welcoming it, she sat on the suitcase in her hallway and waited for the taxi to the airport.

* * *

It had been a fun wedding, as these things go, though I wasn't sure it had been worth putting up with Matt for nearly 8 hours worth of driving. I can't believe I lost my virginity to this guy. Such a dick.

"Come on," he'd slurred several times last night, "how about it? For old time's sake?"

"Matt, no! I'm in a relationship. Sorry, but I'm not a cheat." I also did not find him attractive anymore in the slightest, but figured he was less likely to get angry if I played the Samantha card. I still needed a lift home from him.

He'd got the message, eventually. But this morning, in the car, he's been asking the most inappropriate questions.

"So, like, do different girls taste different?"

"How does scissoring work then?"

"Why do lesbians like dildos if they don't like dick?"

"Have you ever done a daisy chain?"

Fucking give me strength! I can't wait to get home to Samantha. This is going to be the last time I go to a wedding on my own. I'll just decline if Samantha isn't up for it; I mean, if she doesn't know them, then how close a friend are they really?

Finally, he drops me in Kingsdown.

"Just here's fine, Matt, honestly."

"It's cool. I can see if I can find somewhere to park."

"No, look, it's Sunday. Just pull into that loading bay. Yep, there. Cheers! Maybe see you at Christmas?"

I grab my suitcase and slam the boot.

"Cheers Matt!" I give him a perfunctory wave (I've already given him forty quid for petrol) and head home. I can't wait to see Samantha.

As I open the door, I hear voices from the kitchen. Rachael's distinctive tones. Oh, her family are here. Good, I guess: I'm glad Samantha hasn't been on her own.

"Hey! I'm home," I call.

The voices stop.

There is the tick of the clock, the click of the lock as it shuts, but otherwise an ominous absence of sound.

The hairs on my arms rise. My gut twists. What has happened?

In the kitchen a strange assembly greets me: Glen and Rachael, Clara, Louise, Kate and Priya. It's crowded.

"Hi? Um.... what's the occasion?" I'm wracking my brains, wondering whether I'd forgotten something.

There is the atmosphere of a funeral. They all have red rimmed eyes.

Samantha is not here. Dread settles in my stomach.

"Sit down, Sarah dear," Rachael says.

"I'll make some tea," says Clara, getting up and offering me her chair.

"There's a letter for you, Sarah," says Louise, explaining nothing.

Hot, feeling like my insides are about to drop from me, I sit between Louise and Rachael.

On the table is a piece of paper with my name on it in Samantha's jerky handwriting.

Oh fuck.

Somebody's hand rubs my back as I open it.

My beloved Sarah

This hurts me so much. But you will make a wonderful mother, whereas I will make a terrible parent. It is selfish of me to stop you from having children, but I know you will selflessly sacrifice your desires and ambitions for me as long as we are together.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I hear sounds issuing from my mouth that I'm not aware of making.

That's wrong. You should be a mother. You should find somebody who can raise them with you.

I'm shaking now, hand over mouth, crying.

I know you will try to find me to say you don't want children when you so clearly do. I have changed my name, my phone number and left the country.

This house is yours, forever.

I will love you, forever.

All my love

Samantha

Xxx

As Louise embraces me, and Rachael adds her tears to mine, I know that this is the end of all things.