I held that pregnancy test in my hand and the stark white of the freshly painted walls hurt more than the burning of tears of when I learned I was going to be a mum. Today, Jack’s tiny five-year-old fists are banging against the door, a constant little reminder of the bomb that is about to detonate.

When I don’t feel like I’m winning at life or at the single mum game, this little room has become my tiled sanctuary. Today I am definitely not winning. Reality is that I have to face the music at some point; being a single mum is hard, but a disabled single mum of two feels like a different story altogether.

The little white stick in the sink waits for me. I sit on the floor where my long legs can’t stretch out fully without hitting something. I’ve tried to distract myself but I can’t help but look at all the ways this room has aged since I moved here. It’s a lot less white now and the bathtub is rimmed with toys. Frankly, it could do with scrubbing in here, but there isn’t time left in my day.

The steady banging on the door synchronises with the hammering of my incoming headache as I finally reach for the pregnancy test. My heart skips a beat.

Those two lines can’t be denied: I’m pregnant. With Liam’s baby. Shit.

“Mummy, I need to gooooooo!” Jack’s little voice sings from under the door.

“Damn, you must really need to pee with all that banging,” I say with sarcasm that rolls right over his little dark brown waves, leaning to open the door.

“Yup, and I didn’t think you were gonna open the door. You need to be quicker, Mum,” he says as he hustles to use the toilet; I can see so much of myself in him. The way he rolls his eyes, the way his tongue sticks out when he is concentrating. My little shadow.

When Jack was first born and his hair started to grow darker, it hurt my soul a little bit. I was the parent that had carried him and the only parent that was going to be raising him, and yet he is the perfect carbon copy of his dad. How dare his absent parent get the honour to have my son look just like him.

I have approximately thirty seconds before he wants to wash his hands and sees the little problem I am hiding in the basin. I stuff it up the sleeve of my oversized hoodie and turn to get his stepping stool so he can reach the taps.