earned it [h.s.]

65.

Four weeks later.

Genevieve.

Relief.

It was – shamefully – the first thing I felt when I heard Harry stuttering those three words all those weeks ago.

"I-It's not mine?"

He had sounded small, in disbelief, and completely shocked. My heart had been in my throat, watching him slowly crumple. But the first thing I felt was a little exhale leaving my lips, the soft dropping of my shoulders and a huge part of anxiety ebbing away from me.

We had just decided to break up for the sake of both of our futures, but my body was drawn to him, rushing over as I noticed him near collapsing. I caught him and brought him to his knees before he had a complete meltdown in my neck. He didn't softly sob, no, he loudly wept. Cried. Held me so tightly his nails scratched me, cried so violently I had to hold him up.

It wasn't his. The baby wasn't his.

The varying emotions both him and I had felt, all poured out. Harry had been angry, frustrated, sad, excited and heartbroken about Blair's pregnancy revelation. He always wanted to be a father, I knew that much. The moment she said she was pregnant, I somehow knew we were over. It couldn't work. He was too excited, Blair dangling a dream in front of him and I couldn't hold it against him that he went for it.

Like holding a bone in front of a dog.

I didn't know Harry planned on a paternity test. It had been in the back of my mind, but I felt like I was in no position to ask that of him. Partly because I didn't know what he'd do if it turned out not to be his. Would he still turn up for Blair? Would he feel some moral responsibility for this child? Or would he completely drop her and run back to me?

The moment he heard the news from doctor Anderson – his earlier tears not even dried – I could see it in his face. He wouldn't go back. It wasn't his and he was in pain. He didn't want it if it wasn't his, or at least not with Blair.

So I held him to the best of my abilities, tried desperately to hold all his broken pieces together as we sat on the floor of my apartment. He sobbed out some words I couldn't decipher and after about thirty minutes of him hiccupping into my neck, I noticed his crying turned into more of a panic attack.

He could hardly breathe, his heart was violently thrashing in his chest and his eyes were screwed shut in pain as his chest burned.

I called 911.

And four weeks later, I was here. At the front desk of Windermere House.

It was an old, rustic building which was only accessible by car. I had spent a fortune on cab fare after feeling too bad that I constantly asked Jeff, Mitch, Sarah or Ezra to drive me. Harry had offered me the keys to Jeff's car that he had been driving, but I didn't feel comfortable enough to drive by myself without a license even if Harry did call me a natural.

"Hi, Genevieve." Flo smiled from behind the desk. I offered her one back, undoing my scarf from around me. October was nearing its end and the halls of Windermere House were decorated for the Halloween spirit. I nibbled my lip as I placed my palms on the front desk, "Is he in his room?" I questioned curiously.

Flo checked the schedule, pushing her glasses further up her nose, "He's actually finishing up with Kayden. You can go to his room if you like, he'll be there in like ten minutes." She smiled back.

I blindly made my way through the halls that I knew very well by now. I visited Harry every two days, the psychiatric centre being just outside of London. He had been here all of three and a half weeks after spending just a few days in the hospital to be treated for his panic attacks. And then they transferred him here per Lewis' recommendation.