‘OK Bonnie, five minutes, OK? Then we have to go.’

‘OK,’ she says.

As we reach the nursery door, I remind myself that everyone has the right to act badly. It’s how we recover that matters.

‘Bonnie, you’re back!’ says Miss Tabitha. She is clearly delighted to see my daughter, as are the other children, who swarm around Bonnie and start playing with her immediately. ‘Hello Ruby, how are you?’

‘I’m good, thank you. Thank you for allowing us to come back,’ I say, graciously.

‘You’re welcome. We’re just so happy to see you guys. This place isn’t the same without Bonnie.’

‘That’s really kind, thank you. And I’m sorry. The way I behaved that day was unacceptable.’

‘Really, it’s fine. We all have bad days.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, turning to leave.

‘Mummy, wait,’ calls Bonnie, running over to me. She throws herself against me, wrapping her arms around my legs, squeezing me as hard as she can. She has never, ever done this before. I kneel down to her.

‘Have a great day, OK?’ I say, kissing her cheek. ‘I love you.’

She runs off happily to see her friends. People would pay millions for a shot of the endorphins that just ran through my body. I clench my fists and shut my eyes, not wanting them to escape.

‘You can stay if you like,’ Miss Tabitha says. ‘We have a music class?’

‘Oh, that’s sweet but no, I have an appointment I can’t miss. Thank you though.’

‘You’re welcome.’

I wave goodbye to Bonnie, who is back playing with her friends. This is better. She is where she should be.

‘Oh, Miss Tabitha?’ I say, turning back before I leave. ‘Bonnie will only be coming Monday to Thursday now, we’re going to spend Fridays together. Do something fun.’

‘Lovely,’ she says, almost relieved. ‘I’ll make a note of it.’

It’s now time for my next slice of humble pie.

Approaching the salon, I remind myself of what Miss Tabitha said. We all have bad days. Of course we do, I am not alone in my struggles. Parenting and polycystic ovaries are a terrible combination. I need to cut myself some slack on how hard I find it sometimes.

‘I have a ten a.m. with Maron,’ I say to the receptionist. I am prepared for her not to remember my name, and I have prepared myself not to be annoyed about it.

‘Ruby, hi. Yes, she’ll be right with you.’

‘Oh, OK.’ I take a seat.

‘Ruby!’ says Maron. ‘No Bonnie this time?’

‘No, I thought maybe best I come alone, don’t you?’ I smile, offering an olive branch.

‘I think that is almost definitely going to be better for everyone,’ she says, taking it. ‘Shall we get you sorted then?’

I follow her into the treatment room.