‘Ash,’ Adrian said in the tone he used whenever he thought I was being unreasonable. ‘This probably isn’t the place to have this conversation.’

I glared at him. ‘You were the one who dropped it on me in the kitchen five minutes before we were due to go out. Just tell me one thing, what do you think nest parenting is?’

I saw his Adam’s apple slowly slide up and down before he said, ‘It’s when a couple separates and instead of moving the kids back and forth between their new places, they stay in the family home and the parents take turns living there with them.’

‘Oh my God.’ My hand rushed to my chest and my legs wobbled. It was a lovely summer morning, but ice flooded through me. ‘You want us to separate?’

Before he could reply, the parents of one of Payton’s teammates chorused, ‘Morning Adrian, morning Ashling.’

Adrian turned and smiled. ‘Hey Tonia, hey Manish.’ But I was frozen.

‘Lovely morning for it, isn’t it?’ Manish replied as they both came up beside us.

Somehow, I managed to paste a smile on my face and blink back my tears. ‘Just peachy,’ I said, before giving Tonia a hug.

The four of us walked to join the other parents on the sidelines and Adrian set up our chairs, as if everything was normal. Payton and her team did vigorous warm-up exercises, the other parents’ conversation buzzed around me, and then the ref blew the whistle to start the game as if this was just another Sunday morning soccer game.

But nothing was normal anymore. Everything had changed.

Adrian wanted us to separate, which was one tiny step from divorce.

My chest tingled, my heart palpitating so fast I thought I was in danger of cardiac arrest. It was like I’d woken up from my worst nightmare only to discover it was real. There was not enough oxygen in the fresh morning air to fill my lungs.

‘You okay, Ash?’ At Tonia’s question I felt her hand gently touch my arm.

Okay? I almost laughed—I was so far from okay I wasn’t sure I’d ever be okay again. Swallowing, I shrugged. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You just seem kinda quiet.’

Usually I cheered along with the rest of the soccer mums and dads, screaming until my throat went hoarse, but we were fifteen minutes into the first half and I’d barely made a noise, unable to tell you who’d kicked goals or even if there had been any.

‘I’m just tired,’ I lied.

Tonia nodded, placated by my reply, and turned her attention back to the game. Let’s face it, what mother of school-aged kids wasn’t permanently exhausted?

Although we sat side by side, Adrian and I barely said a word to each other during the rest of the game. Was this how it was going to be in the future? The two of us attending our kids’ events separately, or worse, taking turns and only speaking if we had to make arrangements about Saxon and Payton?