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She leaned against the wall, hearing Mila crying, Max obviously comforting her now. Would she end up like this? Would she end up comforting a crying Sophie as she came home late again? As she rushed to a crime scene again? As she missed a dinner or a birthday or Christmas again?

“Trust me,” Max said. “Just trust me, Mil. We can make this work. Together, we can make this work.”

“I know.” Mila sounded tired. “But sometimes I want to hide under a table until the world goes away.”

Max laughed. “Go for it.”

“I would, but there’s dropped cereal and all sorts under the kitchen table,” said Mila. She sighed. “We’ll make it work.”

Tilly swallowed. She sincerely hoped that whatever the problem was that Mila and Max would make it work. Together. That was the key word, wasn’t it? Together, they probably could. Maybe that was what it took, two people ready to work for the same thing.

Two people on the same page.

And weren’t she and Sophie on the same page?

She felt her mouth twitching up into a smile again. They were, she knew it. She knew that if they could just keep being honest about things, keep talking, then they could stay on the same page. She took a breath. They could do this. She could do this.

She couldn’t go around assuming every relationship was doomed to failure just because of her job. She wasn’t making choices that denied her a life of her own. She was going to be a career police officer, and she was going to have a personal life. Plenty of other people managed to juggle both.

Her phone was in her pocket and she pulled it out. She had Sophie’s mobile number, not that she’d ever used it for anything other than setting up a rehearsal meeting. But now she thought she should send something.

With quick fingers, she typed a brief message.Thinking of you. That was all. Simple, sweet, and true. She sent it and immediately her phone vibrated.

Me too, was the answer.

She felt warm inside as she slid her phone back into her pants pocket and left Mila and Max to their conversation. She was hungry and needed a late breakfast.

When she walked into the kitchen, Ag and Dash were at the table, still in pajamas, their faces sticky with cereal, and a pool of spilled milk on the counter.

“Did you two make your own breakfast?” Tilly asked.

“Mum and dad are arguing,” Dash said.

“Not arguing, they’re having a discussion,” said Ag. “Mum says that’s different because it means that you don’t have to win. Which sounds boring because winning is important, isn’t it?”

Tilly considered this. “Yes,” she said finally. “But it’s not always the most important thing.”

“Why not?” asked Dash.

“Um, because sometimes other things are important,” Tilly said. She looked at Ag. “Like when you play in your piano competitions, sometimes having the experience is important, sometimes just playing in front of people is important, it’s not all about winning.”

“Yes, but I’m going to win,” Ag said. “Probably even a grand piano, but I’m definitely going to win a place at the conservatory.”

“I thought that a conservatory was for plants,” Dash said thoughtfully.

“It is,” Ag said. Then she frowned. “But it’s for pianos too.”

“They’re different things,” said Tilly.

“Like how a barn is for pigs but also for cows,” said Dash.

Now it was Tilly’s turn to frown. She wasn’t at all sure about the comparison. “Maybe?” she hazarded. She paused and listened. No sign of Max or Mila. “Do your mum and dad have a lot of… discussions?” she asked, fully aware that it was none of her business.

Ag shrugged. “No, mostly they do kissy stuff when they think no one’s looking. And then they do working stuff because being a policeman is important and being a bookseller is equally important because people need to be safe but also they need to take breaks and relax for their mental health.”

“Have you considered switching to a wind instrument, or a brass one?” Tilly asked. “Like a trumpet maybe?”

“Why?” Ag asked, eyes wide and blue.