I imagine myself picking up a flushed, sweaty, overexcited little thing from ballet or street dance or whatever dance classes she decides she wants to do. She loves to dance so much—I bet she’ll want to do them all.

I shut my eyes and visualise her heart beating and her beautiful new valve pumping all that glorious blood into her lungs for oxygenation.

And I know, somewhere somatic and visceral, deep inside or even beyond my body, that my brave, beautiful daughter will get her life force energy back. That she’ll have everything she needs to live a full and magnificent life.

Putting into place these tentative, terrifying, exhilarating plans for our US trip is one of my top priorities during this week off before I start my unique role at Sullivan Construction next Monday. The twenty-five grand Brendan paid for my audition facilitated this call with Dr Elliott. The operation itself will require a horrifyingly large deposit, but I get a hundred grand sign-on bonus next week, so that will cover it.

I’m still reeling from how easy things become when you have money to throw at them. A consultation with one of the top surgeons in the world when it comes to my daughter’s condition. No problem. Scheduling an operation for the surgery that will change her life with the minimum of invasion. Done.

Is this how it is? Is this how Brendan feels every single day? That doors open and everyone says yes and the road rises up to meet you on every fucking thing? God knows, it’s heady and it’s addictive and it feels so, so wrong.

I have fought for months and months for a grant that would fund this exact trip. I have spent so many evenings after work doing research and writing out applications and lobbying every relevant individual, from MPs to doctors to governors of Great Ormond Street, and peanuts. Peanuts.

But I spread my legs for a filthy-rich guy and immediately it’s open sesame. The money rolls in. The hospitals roll over. And I get what I’ve wanted for Tabby all along.

A few short weeks ago, taking a job with Seraph felt like the hardest thing I could do, the highest hilltop on which to sacrifice myself for my daughter.

Now it feels like the easiest.

It wasn’t even awful! That’s what I can’t get my head around. I’m supposed to be making the ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate cause, and instead the orgasms are flowing as abundantly as the money, and I can’t get my head around it. I’m under no illusion that Brendan will go easy on me, but I had a fantastic night with a hot, generous and disgracefully skilled lover, and for some reason, I feel more guilty than relieved.

And don’t get me started on the money.