Early on Saturday morning I was sitting in new clothes in my newly sterile house. I remember looking around and thinking that it didn’t look lived in. I told myself it was just until you dropped them off, then Charlie and Laura would immediately make their mark on the house and it would all feel normal again. Whatever that was.

You left it until the very last minute. I sat in the kitchen all day, on edge. I hadn’t eaten properly all week and when I heard the front gate click and hurried to the door I had a head rush. I ran through the hallway and, on the way, glanced at myself in the mirror. Somehow I looked worse! How could that be? I had new clothes, new hair, smooth skin and carefully applied make-up.

Charlie and Laura ran to me and hugged me, then ran past me and upstairs to their rooms. I panicked a little. Had I promised them that I would decorate their rooms? I thought I had meant it to be a secret, but everything had been so confused this week that I couldn’t remember.

You sniffed. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. You looked around the kitchen and there I was like a fucking dog, begging for approval. Ever the ambassador, I made the first awkward move.

‘Did you have a good time?’

You didn’t look at me. You looked past me.

‘Yeah. Great. Been busy?’

Temper rising, but I kept it down. I willed myself to not answer. If I don’t say anything, I can’t sound mad, can I? You walked around the kitchen, some kind of cruel inspection. I could hear the kids upstairs, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Fear that you would find something out of place. Another stick to beat me with. Finally, you stopped in front of me and lifted my chin until I was looking into your eyes.

‘That’s better.’

It was a murmur. Despite my extreme stress and fear, which at that time I hadn’t really understood, I felt love. I felt love for you. Care, the old kind. You touched me and my body bent to you, just as I thought it would do for the rest of my life. For a second I held the hope that we would get back together. That you would come home. For a second I wanted you to.

You turned and walked away, leaving my soul wrecked once more. This process would be repeated weekly, sometimes daily, for months and months. I know now that when I looked in the mirror that day, it wasn’t my clothes or my hair that made me look worse. I was being worn down from the inside out.