Then she would go wake up the children: Hannah first, then the twins. Their clothes for the day were laid out the night before by Ron. All they had to do was wash their faces and dress while Hannah did the lunchboxes. Fast and smooth, like Sarah’s sedan gliding through their neighbourhood streets on the school run. Simon and Ethan in primary school; Hannah in high school, now.

Pecks on the cheek. Have you got everything? You’ll be cold, put on that sweater. Good luck in your Maths test! That’s enough back there. No, you’re going to gym class today. And last but not least, the traditional reminder: you’re all at your dads’ places next weekend. Then the drive to the office.

At eight thirty sharp, she would drive into the parking lot and pull up in front of the sign that bore her name.

‘Sarah Cohen, Johnson & Lockwood.’ She looked at it every morning with a touch of pride; the plaque that indicated so much more than her own personal parking space. She was a partner, she had a place in the world. Her accomplishment. Her life’s work. Success. Her realm.

The doorman greeted her in the foyer, followed by the girl on the front desk. Always the same ritual. She was universally liked. Sarah entered the elevator, pressed the button for the eighth floor, walked quickly down the hallways to her office. There were never many others around. She was often the first in, and the last to leave. That was the price you paid to build a career, to become Sarah Cohen, equity partner in Johnson & Lockwood, one of the city’s most respected and prestigious firms. Women were in the majority further down the ranks, but Sarah was the only one to have made partner in a firm that had a reputation for machismo.

Most of her girlfriends from law school had hit the glass ceiling. Some had even given up, changed career, despite their long, hard years of study. Not her. Not Sarah Cohen. She had shattered the glass ceiling, blow by blow, with her overtime, her weekends at the office, the sleepless nights preparing her pleas. She remembered the first time she had walked into the huge marble foyer, ten years ago. Called in for interview, she had faced a panel of eight men, including Johnson, the eponymous founder and Managing Partner. God himself, come down from his office to the conference room especially for the occasion. He hadn’t spoken a word, but had fixed her with his hard stare, poring over her CV line by line, making no comment. Sarah had felt unsettled but refused to show it.