I want to say more. I want to tell Mum I’m angry with her. That she has no right to hold my daughter in her arms and act like a doting grandmother. I also want to tell her that every night I pinch myself because I’d given up on having a parent who cared. I want to say that having her here is both terrifying and extraordinary.

But I can’t. I can’t say anything.

Mum blinks rapidly, fighting back tears. “I’ll go, but can I still call you in the next day or two, see how you’re getting on?”

Hugging Mum would be too much. Instead, I place a hand over hers and squeeze.

“Of course, Mum. That would be lovely.”

Sniffing, Mum gives me a watery smile. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Trish. Really.”

“Small steps,” I say softly.

“Small steps,” Mum agrees.

*

It’s strange walking back into the office. This used to be the only place I felt I belonged. At work, I was confident in myself and my abilities. Now, it feels so foreign and I’m such a different version of myself, I find it hard to believe I ever slaved away hour upon hour within these walls.

I’ve barely made it past the reception desk before I’m mobbed. The females coo and carry on, gushing over how amazing I look and how cute Rose is. They’re right – she looks completely adorable asleep in the front pack in her little yellow jumpsuit (a gift from Mags). The males in the office hover uncertainly at the edges, a few brave souls coming in for a closer look.

My nemesis, Mark, is one of the few in the office who stays behind his desk. Correction. The little prick has taken over my desk. He used to sit by the emergency exit door. Now, he’s not only taken over my portfolios, but he’s also nabbed the most prized desk in the place – one I worked my butt off to gain. Mark is leaning back in his chair (I bet it’s my old chair) grinning at me like there’s nothing wrong. A fool who didn’t know better would think he was pleased to see me. The wanker.

As soon as I can break free from the clucky masses, I stride over and do my best to stare down my opponent.

“Made yourself comfortable,” I state. “How’s Omnus going?”

I happen to know from a work colleague that the Japanese company has been less than impressed with his work so far.

Mark doesn’t look in the least put out. Instead, he laughs. “No one could do the job as well as you, Trish, but I’m doing my best.”

I narrow my eyes. What game is he playing at?

Tash appears at the open door of her office. She crosses her arms and assesses me with a frown.

“Trish,” she says gruffly.