For Iain Dean and Faith Cadogan, the word “complicated” no longer comes close to describing what they are. Their marriage has already survived addiction, separation, and months of emotional distance. Now, with a baby on the way, they’re standing in the most fragile place two people can occupy: close enough to hope, but still far from trust.

When Faith discovered she was pregnant, it changed everything — not in a neat, comforting way, but in a way that forced both of them to confront decisions they’d been avoiding. Iain’s first reaction was clumsy and emotional. He struggled with the idea that Faith didn’t plan to keep the baby, then tried to make things right by offering support, attending the scan, and promising he would stand by her. When they learned it was too late for a termination, the reality of becoming parents again stopped being theoretical.

That’s when Iain did what he’s always done when fear takes over: he tried to fix things quickly.

He suggested they get back together.

For Faith, that offer wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to be a problem to solve or a responsibility to manage. She needed to know whether he wanted her, or whether he was just responding to the baby. When Iain couldn’t give her a clear answer, she walked away — not because she didn’t care, but because she was tired of being loved conditionally.

What happened next is the kind of mistake that changes everything.

Iain went out. He drank. He tried to forget how powerless he felt. And in that fog of frustration and loneliness, he ended up with someone else — a brief, impulsive connection that offered escape, not comfort. In the moment, it probably felt like relief. By the next day, it was a weight he couldn’t put down.

The cruelty of the timing is what makes it devastating.

That same evening, Faith finally listened to Stevie’s advice and decided their relationship — and their growing family — was worth fighting for. She went to find Iain, ready to talk, ready to try again. He wasn’t there. And the audience already knew why.

When Iain later confesses what he’s done, it isn’t just an admission of infidelity. It’s the collision of two emotional timelines that were finally about to meet. Faith’s hope arrives at the exact moment Iain’s mistake becomes impossible to undo.

For Faith, the betrayal cuts deeper than anger. It confirms her worst fear: that when things get hard, Iain runs. Not away from her, necessarily — but away from the responsibility of sitting with pain and uncertainty. With a baby on the way, that pattern isn’t just hurtful. It’s terrifying.

For Iain, the guilt is immediate and inescapable. He didn’t cheat because he stopped caring. He cheated because he didn’t know how to stay still in the middle of fear. That doesn’t excuse it — but it does explain why this mistake feels so final.

This storyline works because it isn’t about villains and victims. It’s about two people who keep missing each other by inches, and how one bad decision can shatter a moment that took months to build.

Now the question isn’t whether they love each other.

It’s whether love is enough to survive this — and whether trust, once broken at the worst possible time, can ever be rebuilt when there’s a child and a future hanging in the balance.