And me? I nodded, too. I said all the right things. But inside, I was somewhere else entirely; back in my kitchen last night, where Dan had pulled me close, kissed me like he meant it, and whispered something filthy in my ear that made my knees buckle.
While the others vented about communication breakdowns, I was thinking about connection; real, raw connection. About how Dan had looked at me across the breakfast table that morning, his eyes still soft from sleep, his hand brushing mine as he reached for the butter knife.
For the first time in years, I felt wanted. Desired.
And that made me feel like an imposter.
I loved these women. They were my people. We’d swapped nappies and night-feeding horror stories, held each other’s babies so the other could pee in peace. But how could I tell themthat things were good now? That we’d clawed our way back from the brink and rediscovered something even deeper?
I wanted to tell them it can get better, that it’s not all slow decline and separate duvets. But every time I opened my mouth, guilt silenced me.
So I stayed quiet. Smiling, nodding, hiding my happiness like it was something shameful.
Thankfully, later that day I was meeting Hannah for a lunch along with my toddler sidekick, Ruby. With Hannah being single by choice, I did not feel one ounce of guilt gloating about how good things were now with Dan.
She was already seated when I arrived, sunglasses perched atop her perfectly messy bun, a glass of rosé catching the sunlight like it was her job to make everyone else’s day brighter.
“Finally!” she said as I slid into the booth. “I thought you’d gotten trapped at playgroup again.”
“Nearly,” I said. “Someone puked on the bouncy castle as I was leaving. It was touch and go.”
She grinned, clinking her glass against my coffee mug. “To survival.”
“To survival,” I echoed, taking a sip.
“Cheese!” Ruby yelled, grinning proudly, certain that the proper word for a toast was definitely not ‘cheers.’
“So,” Hannah said, leaning in conspiratorially. “How’s the S-E-X?” She whispers, spelling it out so that Ruby couldn’t understand.
I spluttered, nearly choking on my drink. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Never.” She grinned. “Come on. I need to live vicariously through you. My love life is deader than my houseplants.”
I grinned, a little heat rising to my cheeks. “Thriving.”
“Thank God. Someone has to be keeping the dream alive.” She popped an olive into her mouth, eyes glinting. “Tell me everything.”
I look down at Ruby, absorbed in her picture book whilst munching on a breadstick.
“Okay, so you know how before, it was all… efficient?”
Hannah snorted. “Efficient? Like a call centre?”
“Exactly. ‘Thank you for contacting your husband, your estimated hold time is thirty seconds.’”
We both burst out laughing.
“But now?” I continued. “It’s different. It’s spontaneous. It’s passionate. It’s...”
“Hot?” she teased.
“Very.”
She grinned, swirling her wine. “Well, aren’t you just the poster child for marital rebirth?”
I tried to downplay it, but I couldn’t help smiling. “I mean… maybe a little.”
“Oh, brag. Please brag. Everyone else is miserable. Let me bask in your glow.”
