After breakfast, we lounge on the sofa, watching Up. More than ever, I feel sorry for the old man and his wife who never got to have children. I can’t believe how much my life has been enhanced and Harry has only been in it for a day.

Adam’s hand dips into a box of sweets. ‘Toffee?’ He noisily unwraps the foil. Instinctively I begin to say no, conscious of the waistband of my yoga pants digging into soft flesh. Knowing I’m the biggest I’ve ever been, but then I chide myself for being so ridiculous. Of all the things I’ve come to realize are important, worth worrying about, my weight is somewhere near the bottom of the list.

‘Please.’ I open my mouth. Adam pops the toffee onto my tongue.

My eyes flicker constantly between the TV and Harry’s sweet face. He is fast asleep on Adam’s chest. After the film finishes we remain in the same position, reluctant to disturb him, until he begins to stir. While I feed him, Adam clears up the kitchen. When he steps back into the lounge he’s carrying a dog lead.

‘I’m going to take Dug out for a walk,’ Adam says. ‘Want to come and get some air?’

‘It might be too cold for Harry?’ I peer doubtfully out of the window. Clouds bunch in the sky but it isn’t only the weather that’s holding me back. Home is the only place I want to be. The only place I’ve ever been to in Adam’s consciousness. What would happen if we stepped outside these four walls? I’m reluctant to risk it. Adam doesn’t let it drop.

‘We’ll just go down to the park on the corner and back; Dug’s puppy legs can’t take too much exercise.’

‘I think we’ll stay here.’ Amongst my own things, safe and familiar.

‘Anna, you’ve got to go out sometime. I know it’s daunting because Harry is constantly hungry and, to be blunt, he shits himself more times a day than Josh, but I’d feel better when I go back to work knowing you’ve ventured further than the kitchen. We’ve got to take him outside sometime. This is our life now.’

Our life. It’s our home. The same and yet somehow not. It’s like the hopscotch Nell and I used to play as kids. Each time the rain would rub out our chalk marks, we’d scratch them onto the pavement again. At first glance they looked exactly the same but it’s impossible to recreate something twice. There’s always a subtle difference. It is all here. Our furniture. Our clothes. But there is something missing.

The underlying anger we’d been carrying.

The disappointment.

The way we usually skirted around each other.

It’s gone. All of it.

I smile. ‘You’re right. I’m just nervous.’