“Why does a baby need a room that’s bigger than mine?” says Em.

“Because it’s a very special baby,” I say. “It’s not about room size, it’s about making your new brother or sister welcome.”

“Mum said we weren’t going to have any more brothers or sisters.”

“This one will be a half one,” says Felix.

He’s such an adorable peacemaker.

“But just as loved as you two are,” I say.

“Does my dad love you?” asks Emily.

I decide to tell the truth.

“Not as much as he loved your mum,” I say. “But we both love you very much and we want us to be one big, happy family.”

“I wish she was still here,” says Felix.

“So do I,” I assure him.

It’s only half a lie; the truth is too complex and cruel.

I take a deep breath.

“Your mum made me promise to look after you. She loved you very much, as do I. So, that’s why I’m here. It’s for you two, so that you have someone else—as well as your dad—to look out for you.” I take another deep breath; it’s a gamble, Stuart may not like me mentioning it to them first, but I’ll make up a feasible reason why it felt natural to do so.

“I’m thinking that maybe, to help me keep my promise to your mummy in the best way possible, that I should adopt you.”

“What does that mean?” asks Felix.

“It means that I will be your new mummy.”

“Maybe Mummy wrote about the word adopt in her notebooks,” says Emily. “I can check.”

“What notebooks?”

“The ones in the secret place where she kept things for me for when I’m older.”

“Have you got them?”

“Yes,” says Emily. “I took one because I am older now.”

“May I see it, please?”

Em hesitates before she pulls a beautifully decorated notebook from beneath her bed and hands it to me.

I sit down next to her on the floor and gently go through the pages, my jaw aching. I stop reading—these are private messages from Nina to her daughter. Emily is advanced for her age when it comes to reading, but these are precious words that need to be kept safe for when she’s much older.

“I’ll look after it very carefully for you,” I say. “Where did Mummy hide this, Em?”

There’s no way she could have climbed into the loft on her own, regardless of how wise and capable she is for her age.

“I’ll show you.”

She goes into our room and into the en suite. She removes a chair from the bathroom and pulls it into the dressing room. I watch, speechless, as Emily first pulls open the door to Nina’s old wardrobe (now mine, of course, like everything else in this house that was hers), stands on the chair, then pulls my sweaters off one of the shelves. She drops them on the floor, then points.

On the gray-painted wall at the back is an inconspicuous safe, the same color as the wall. It’s like an optical illusion; I’d never have noticed it.