I don’t have the answer. I wish I did. I wish I could tie this up neatly with a conclusion about how we’ve figured it out, how we’ve learned to balance everything and prioritise each other and keep the spark alive. But the truth is, we’re still in it. We’re still trying. We’re still failing. And maybe that’s what matters. Maybe the trying is the point. Maybe as long as we’re still reaching for each other, still wanting to make this work, then we’re doing better than it feels like we are.
I hope so. Because for all the exhaustion and all the ways we keep missing each other, I still love him. I still see the man I fell in love with, even when he’s sleep-deprived and grumpy and stressed. I still want this to work. And I think he does, too. So, we’ll keep trying. We’ll keep showing up for each other, even when it’s hard. Even when it feels impossible. Because the alternative? That’s not something I want to imagine.
The next night came attempt number two at attempting to be romantic. This time, we were prepared. We put the kids to bed early. Ruby, being two, was a wild card, but we prayed for mercy.
We lit candles. Dan cooked. There was wine. We actually managed to have a conversation about something other than packed lunches, although we did briefly discuss the ethics ofgiving up and just sending Oscar to school with a bag of dry cereal and an apple.
Dan swirled his wine, watching me over the rim of his glass. “So… we’re actually doing this.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Having dinner?”
He smirked. “No, having a proper grown-up evening. Feels almost… illicit.”
I laughed, but he wasn’t wrong. The quiet, the candlelight, the fact that no one had interrupted us to demand a snack or a tissue, it all felt unfamiliar, like stepping into a version of our life we’d misplaced somewhere between sleepless nights and school drop-offs.
Dan cleared his throat. “You look really nice, by the way.”
I glanced down at my dress, smoothing the fabric over my lap. It wasn’t anything fancy, but I’d actually put on mascara, which had to count for something. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He exhaled a laugh. “I even showered. Big night.”
“Wow. Pulling out all the stops.”
A silence settled between us, comfortable but charged. He shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair, and I realised, I wasn’t the only one feeling nervous.
“This is weird, right?” he admitted, finally voicing what had been buzzing between us. “Like… I know you, obviously, but it feels like we’re on a first date.”
I took a sip of wine, trying to suppress my smile. “A first date where we already know each other’s least attractive habits. I’ve seen you clip your toenails in the living room.”
He groaned. “One time.”
“And I know you have a very particular system for loading the dishwasher that I dare not mess with.”
“That’s just logic, Emma. Utensils go...”
“Handles up, I know, I know.” I grinned, then tilted my head at him. “See? We’ve got all the awkward first-date stuff out of the way. We can just get to the good part.”
His eyes darkened slightly, his smirk deepening. “And what’s the good part?”
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “I was thinking dessert.”
Dan’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something witty, but instead, he just exhaled a laugh and shook his head. “God, I love you.”
“I love you the same” I said with a wink, knowing that it actually meant that I love him more.
The nerves eased a little. Maybe this wasn’t a first date. Maybe it was better because at the end of the night, no matter what happened, I was already home.
We enjoyed our food without a single interruption. It was almost too good to be true. And then, somehow, we made it to the bedroom. I was tipsy, giggling, and he was looking at me like he used to, before sleep deprivation became our defining trait. We kissed, and it was good. Like, oh yes, I remember this good.
And then...
‘Mummy?’
I screamed.
Sophie stood in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit like a tiny, judgemental spectre of doom. ‘I had a bad dream.’
I yanked the duvet up to my chin. Dan made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a dying moose.
