We were together for about... three? four years? a lot of time. You’ve always told me that he is very good to you, that he treats you very well and that you are very happy, but that doesn't stop you from calling me every two weeks looking for some love in my bed… I'm not going to lie to you either, I like how you do it, that you continue to love me that way, that even having another person who treats you even better than I treated you, you keep coming into my arms.

But one day I find out that you are pregnant. What the hell do you mean by pregnant? And I haven't even found out from you, because you haven't spoken to me in weeks. And the truth is that I can understand why.

Okay, I understand that you are with someone else, and that now you are going to have a child together, and continuing to see your ex is not the most appropriate thing to do. But there’s something that smells very bad to me. You always tell me, well told me, that you never had sex with him, only with me, that no one does it better than me... you flatter me, honestly.

Harry concentrate, that's not the case.

Well, basically I was the only person you ever slept with. And now you're pregnant... so... you're getting me, right?

"Please pick up the phone, this is the tenth voicemail I've left you. I need answers, I need you to tell me the damn truth." I say frustratedly in your voicemail, on the verge of a panic attack. “God, You like to play hard to get, huh?”