Women look at him. I’ve seen them. Not staring so much as taking a second glance. Or a first look that lasts a moment too long. In the street, in a restaurant, at the school gates (those mums really should know better). He wears glasses – big black-rimmed things, more Buddy Holly than John Lennon – but that just seems to add to his allure, and they look at him as if he is Clark Kent, undoing the top button of his shirt.

And he doesn’t even notice.

But this is really the true measure of how good he is – when he comes back into the living room holding the Puffin Classics edition of The Call of the Wild, Buddy the yellow Lab padding behind him, Christian sees that I am holding his phone.

And he doesn’t flinch.

How many men can you say that about? How many women?

Christian is still smiling as he puts The Call of the Wild on the coffee table.

I gently place his phone on top of the book and then I go to him and find his mouth with my mouth. He laughs when I squeeze him tight. He hugs me back, and I melt into him, enjoying the sweet warmth and hard bulk of him, as familiar to me as what I see in the mirror every morning.

‘Love you,’ I whisper.

‘Love you too,’ he returns.

We do not say it all the time but God knows I need to say it tonight. I feel what is between us and it is the bond that only comes with time. You can’t get it in a bar. You can’t get it in a club. You will not – trust me on this one, for I am a bit of an expert – find it swiping through the gallery of a dating app.

Having a child together. Having a dog together. Sleeping side by side for hundreds – thousands by now – of nights. Watching your parents grow older. Watching them getting ready to die. Knowing another human being in a way that only all those shared experiences, big and small, can bring.

I embrace him too hard. I kiss the side of his face, his end-of-the-day stubble sandpaper rough against my lips. I knock his big Buddy Holly glasses slightly skew-whiff.

‘Tara,’ he chides, laughing, straightening his specs. ‘It’s not even Saturday night!’

It’s not you, I think, suddenly on the edge of weepy exhaustion.

It’s me.

His smile fades when he sees my eyes shining with tears.

And I decide that it’s time.

I must tell him tonight. I must tell him now.

Frankly, I have no choice. He is about to discover that everything he thinks he knows about our life together is wrong.

His phone begins to ring.

‘Don’t answer it,’ I tell him.

He holds me at arm’s length.

‘Tara?’

His phone stops ringing.

‘What? Tell me? Come on, I want to know.’

I look at his face and I take a breath.