Despite everything, Emma flushed with pride. Her stubborn streak bristled, of course (Zeb had that too): I don’t need you to tell me I did a good job. But she had to admit it was gratifying to hear, especially when she’d been doubting herself so much. In the background, her mum nodded manically in agreement.

“The way he’s been acting, though,” Robin added tentatively, “all this bizarre stuff he’s done . . . surely it’s telling us something.”

Emma blew out another sigh. The lights of the police cars outside made her whole flat seem to flash and pulsate. Sounds from upstairs were strikingly absent. She thought of all the times she’d heard the Harlows’ footsteps and voices, their apparently perfect life rippling above. Now upstairs was empty, yet she had the chance to salvage her own family.

She was grown up now. So was Robin. Their son was standing in the doorway of this kitchen, looking from one parent to the other for help. How strange it must be for him, never having been in a room with both of them until tonight. And how lucky they were that he was here, and safe, with a whole life in front of him that could be better all round, if maybe they just called this their new Day One. Got reacquainted, without any secrets.

“I heard that,” Zeb murmured.

“What?” Emma asked, trying to collect herself.

“The stuff Dad said, about being shitty to you at school. About how hard everything’s been for you.” His eyes were wide. “I didn’t know all that.”

“Because we didn’t talk about it,” she conceded.

Zeb sniffed again. “It might’ve helped me understand things . . . you know, from your point of view.”

“I did think about telling you myself, Zeb,” Robin said quietly. “But I assumed there must’ve been a reason your mum hadn’t. And, since we’re being honest, I was worried it would kill our relationship before it even started. I wanted you to get to know me a bit first.”

“Well . . . I can’t exactly judge you,” Zeb said, twisting his cuffs. “I’m the worst person in the world.”

“No!” three voices protested in unison.

Emma, her mum, and Robin shared a glance before Emma pressed the point home: “You’re not, Zeb. You made some questionable choices when you were angry. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

She remembered what he’d said during their last argument, exasperated with her for refusing to give his dad a chance. Is it one strike and you’re out with you? He didn’t realize that he, Zeb, was the one person who could have endless strikes with her.

Emma dried her eyes, smoothed her hair. “We can fix this. It might be tough but we can try to fix everything . . .” Letting her gaze flit toward Robin, she took the plunge and added, “All of us.”