Holding the food in one hand, Oli noses back into the morning traffic. She’ll be pushing it to make the editorial meeting, but she needed a moment to herself after dropping the girls off. Even after short stints alone with them, she feels untethered. She can’t seem to relax in their company, her nerves screaming like cicadas. It takes all of her energy to play mother.

Fortunately, signing them in was quick this morning. Amy and Kate hung their bags on the hooks in the entrance and floated off, whispering to each other without giving Oli a backwards glance. Even though she finds their rare displays of affection uncomfortable, indifference is worse.

She hasn’t spent much time with other kids—her sister has none and her small friendship group is largely childless—but even she can tell the girls are different from their peers. They are so insular, so serious. Is it just because they’re twins, she wonders for the millionth time, or is it grief? She can’t bring it up with Dean; she knows too well the way his muscles will stiffen and his jaw tense, and the odd tone that will creep into his voice. It’s the reaction he has whenever she expresses an opinion about his daughters. As far as he’s concerned, the four counselling sessions they had after Isabelle died did the trick. Case closed.

Oli wolfs down the rest of the muffin, demolishes the hash brown and drowns the lot with boiling coffee. The past twelve months have been a crash course in parenting, and she still hasn’t adjusted to the constant weight of responsibility she now carries. It’s relentless—and, if she’s completely honest, an unwelcome addition to her life. Her thoughts are often split in two, her impulses dulled and wrestled into submission. An invisible anchor connects her to Dean and the girls, creating a sense that she shouldn’t let her work come first, or that at the very least, she should feel bad if it does.

Your own child will be different. You will want to feel the constant attachment.

Oli registers the disloyal thought and hates herself for it.

The Christmas holidays will be a much-needed circuit-breaker: ten nights in Vietnam, babysitters for the girls. She can’t wait. Just the thought of time with Dean, away from real life, makes her skin tingle. Although admittedly, the September school holidays are only a few days away and Dean and the twins are going away without her, and she’s looking forward to the time alone this will grant her almost as much as the Vietnam trip. Possibly even more. She groans. Her head is all over the place. Maybe Dean’s right—maybe she should take a step back at work, ease her foot off the pedal.