My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Because the truth is, I don’t know if the anxiety is about logistics. It’s about identity. We just found steady.
Is ambition going to shake it?
That night, I wait until after dinner to mention it.
Ruby is asleep on the sofa with pasta sauce in her hair.
Oscar is mid-rant about football statistics that apparently have global importance.
Sophie is reorganising the cutlery drawer for reasons known only to her.
Normal chaos.
Dan’s at the sink, sleeves pushed up, washing pans.
God, those forearms are just…
Focus, Emma.
“Something came in today,” I say lightly.
He glances over his shoulder. “Good something?”
“I… don’t know.”
He dries his hands and turns fully toward me. “What is it?”
I tell him. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tense.
Doesn’t do that tight jaw thing he used to do when something scared him. When I finish, there’s a beat of silence.
“That’s incredible.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“Why?”
Becausewhat about the kidsis already sitting on my tongue. Because part of me still believes ambition is selfish. Because I’ve worked so hard to rebuild us that I’m terrified of tipping the balance.
“It’s a lot,” I say instead.
He leans back against the counter. “Do you want to go?”
There it is.
NotCan we manage it?NotWhat will it cost?NotThat’s bad timing.
Just:
Do you want it?
“Yes.” It comes out before I can filter it.
He nods once. “Then you’re going.”
It’s too easy.
