We were two. We were still two. Not three or four. No pram blocked our hallway. Our lounge was impossibly tidy, no plastic toys to throw into tubs at the end of the day. The spare room housed years of accumulated junk instead of a cot. Since my endometriosis diagnosis I’d twice undergone surgery to remove adhesions and taken fertility medication. The doctor had said I could conceive but…

My eyes strayed to the black and white framed photo of our wedding day hanging on the wall at the foot of our bed. It was the last thing we saw before we turned off the lights, the first thing we saw every morning. It used to make me smile. Now it made me sad. The picture was so intimate, our foreheads touching as we’d leaned towards each other.

I felt beautiful. Now everything felt ugly. Our marriage showered in a confetti of faded dreams.

Furiously I dragged the cotton-wool pad across my skin, removing all traces of the make-up I had worn to work. From around my neck I unfastened the silver chain I wore most days. In my jewellery box was the gold star pendant Adam had bought me for our first Christmas together. My stomach tightened painfully. He hadn’t called me Star for ages. I really should have tucked the necklace somewhere I didn’t have to look at it every day, but I knew that wasn’t the solution. Out of sight was definitely not out of mind.

I pulled out the drawer of my dressing table. Nestled under the pile of underwear, once black and lacy, now washed-too-often-no-longer-white and bought for practicality rather than fun, it lay there like a dirty secret. Gently I pulled out the parcel, unwrapping tissue paper as fragile as my heart. Inside was the tiny lemon sleepsuit covered in bears and the brightly coloured cuddly parrot we’d bought on a whim, the weekend we arrived home from honeymoon when we had begun trying for a family of our own.

‘This parrot looks like the one we set free the week we met,’ Adam had said. ‘Our future child absolutely has to have it. We shall call him Percy.’ I still could picture us. Me carefully carrying the shopping bag as if it was as precious as the baby we thought we’d create. Adam’s arm protectively around me. At home, I had sprawled on the rug, Percy Parrot in my hand, the sleepsuit spread over my stomach, while Adam had thrown logs on the fire.

‘Will you still love me when I’m fat?’ I had grinned, waiting for his jokey response.