He took Ruby, but by then I was already vibrating with stress.
By the time I finally got dressed, I didn’t even want to go.
I sat on the bed, deflated. “I’m not sure I can be bothered.”
Dan frowned. “Are you serious? We’ve been trying to plan this for weeks.”
“I know.” My throat tightened. “But getting ready was a nightmare. I feel gross. I feel rushed. I’d honestly rather put pyjamas on and eat ice cream.”
He exhaled. “Em. We have to leave the house sometimes.”
He was right.
But being right doesn’t make it easy.
Then came the briefing.
Because leaving the kids wasn’t just leaving them. It was handing someone the entire system my brain runs on.
I stood in the kitchen running through it while Hannah watched, eyebrows rising higher with each sentence.
“So Oscar will say he doesn’t need a wee, but he does. You have to make him go or he’ll be up at ten saying it’s an emergency.”
“Got it,” Hannah said, typing notes like she was studying.
“And Sophie will want her door open, but not too open, because then it’s ‘too light.’ Like this.” I held my fingers an inch apart.
Hannah blinked. “Right.”
“And Ruby…if she won’t settle, try ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ but whisper it, and don’t stop too soon or she’ll start crying again.”
Hannah stared at me. “Emma. I love you. But this is… a lot.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “I know. It’s just… if they don’t settle properly, we’ll pay for it later.”
Dan walked in jingling the car keys.
“Are we leaving,” he said, “or are we just briefing Hannah all night?”
And there it was.
The gap.
He saw the night out. I saw the aftermath.
We went anyway. Begrudgingly. Me tense, him hopeful.
In the restaurant, candlelight glowed. Wine swirled. Dan looked at me across the table with a smile that was still… him.
“So,” he said. “What’s new?”
I blinked.
New.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry.
“Dan,” I said, “I’ve spent the week cleaning baby sick off my jeans and trying to convince Oscar his shadow isn’t following him on purpose. Nothing is new.”
