“Yeah,” she says softly.
A few steps pass, the gravel crunching under our feet, the kids’ laughter drifting back toward us, and I can feel the weight of what we’re about to do settling properly now.
“They come first,” she says.
“Always,” I reply, without even thinking about it.
Because that’s not something I need to consider.
“That doesn’t change,” she adds.
“It won’t.”
And I mean that too. But then she gestures slightly between us, subtle, barely there, and says quietly, “But this matters as well.”
I look at her then, because that’s the part that scares me slightly. Not her or us. But getting it wrong.
“It does,” I say.
And I don’t look away, because I need her to see that I mean it, that this isn’t something I’m saying lightly.
She nods, like that’s what she needed. “Okay.”
By the time we reach the house, my chest feels heavier than it did when we started walking. Isla is halfway through taking her shoes off when I step inside, her bag already dropped in the hallway like always, her voice running ahead of her as she starts telling me about her day, something about a spelling test and someone crying and a sticker she nearly got but didn’t, and I listen, properly listen, because this is the bit I don’t ever want to lose.
“Snack?” she asks, already heading toward the kitchen.
“Go on then,” I say, grabbing something and handing it to her.
She takes it and wanders into the living room, and I follow more slowly this time, my mind catching up with me again.
Don’t overthink it. Just be honest.
“Come sit with me for a minute, bug,” I say, nodding toward the sofa.
She stops mid-step and looks at me immediately. Mum gives me an approving nod from the kitchen, knowing exactly what I’m about to do.
“That sounds serious Daddy.”
“It’s not,” I say, smiling slightly. “Just a chat.”
She studies me for a second like she’s trying to work out if I’m lying, then shrugs and climbs onto the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. I sit beside her, turning slightly so I’m facing her, not crowding her, just… there.
“Okay,” she says. “What is it?”
I take a breath, slower this time, letting it out before I start. “You know Freya,” I say.
She nods. “Yeah.”
“And Theo.”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve… become important to me.”
Her fingers still slightly on the wrapper in her hand. She’s listening now, intently.
“Freya makes me really happy,” I add, keeping it simple, because it needs to be simple.
