Somewhere around the second month something shifted, and I came home from a Saturday out to find him on the floor with Wren and a plastic bowl of pasta, narrating a story about a duck, entirely unaware anyone was in the doorway.

The recliner went in the fourth month. He sold it himself, without being asked, and bought the high chair, a cot mattress that did not sag, and a second-hand pushchair with decent brakes.

He wears the watch. He earned it and he knows exactly how narrowly.

We are not fixed by a watch. We did nine months of counselling and there are things about that year I have not entirely put down. But he asks now, before he decides what we can afford, and he has never once said he is the only one earning.

Wren is four. She calls Rosalind Abuela and they video call on Sundays.

I spent seven months being told what my work was worth by a man who had never done any of it. His mother did not lecture him. She simply made him stand in my place for half a year, and he could not unsee it, and neither could I.