My editor ends with:We thought of you immediately.
Immediately.
The word lodges somewhere under my ribs. I should feel triumphant. Instead, I feel like someone’s gently pressing on an old bruise.
Three days away.
Three days where the house won’t run on autopilot because I’ve pre-loaded it with invisible labour.
Three days of Dan doing it all.
Three days of potentially failing publicly.
Three days of succeeding without him beside me.
Receiving an email like this would have been a dream before kids. Back when my identity wasn’t braided into lunchboxes and labelled Tupperware.
Now? Now it feels like my life revolves around them. Around home. Around the steady rhythm we fought so hard to rebuild. The thought of being away for three whole days makes my chest tighten. Not because I don’t want it. Because I do.
Too much.
I forward the email to myself. Then I do what any emotionally mature woman does. I open the group chat.
Emma:Tell me if I’m being dramatic.
Clara:Always. What’s happened.
Hannah:If this is about Dan and the laundry again I swear to God.
Lou:I’m hiding in the pantry. Make it quick.
Abigail:I’m here. Slightly hungover but present.
I screenshot the email and drop it in.
Silence.
Actual silence.
Then…
Hannah:ARE YOU JOKING.
Clara:FRONT ROW????
Lou:FUCK. EMMA. THIS IS HUGE!
Abigail:Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
My phone vibrates like it’s about to combust.
Hannah:Holy shitballs.
Clara:This is career defining.
Lou:This is “she’s about to become insufferable in the best way” level.
Abigail:You have to say yes.
