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“Thank you,” I said, my heart filling with joy. Small things. Tiny gestures that were absolutely everything. These kids. All my kids.

“Constance, can you show me where you saw this course?”

“Yes!” She pumped her fist in the air. “I win. I’ll even do it with you, if you like. Then when we get on the plane, I can hold your hand. Feed you biscuits.”

She did as well. Picked one up from the plate in front of me and shoved it in my mouth.

Silly girl. But yes. I loved her. Fiercely. And like my son, violently so. I’d mow down crowds for her. Raise hell. Burn the world down if anyone ever hurt her. The same way I loved all these kids, mine or not.

Theseweremy kids. Every single one of them.

“Maybe,” I said.

“We’re doing it. Now, where are the washing tablets?”

She was smiling because she knew full well where they were. She was just doing what she did. Manipulating me with a smile and a biscuit. Winking as I rolled my eyes.

The way we did.

“Hello!” The front door once again got flung open as Dylan walked in with his phone pressed to his ear, followed by Marmie, who flung his schoolbag on the floor and went straight for the fridge.

“Is there any food?”

“Second shelf,” I pointed at the multitude of snacks available, none of which met his approval, as he just slammed the fridge door closed, then sat down next to me and promptly stole a biscuit.

“Dad, Stewart has agreed to do the fear of flying course with me.” Constance smiled sweetly.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” I boomed as my heart took a jolt. No. Not happening.

“You should. Challenge yourself a little.”

Said the man I loved. Nope. Not happening. Maybe.

“I told him that we want to go on holiday next year.”

“A holiday we can’t afford.”

“Gray said he’d pay. Just imagine. The Maldives, water villas, sea, sand…crabs on the beach.”

“You’ve been reading too many travel blogs.”

“But he’s right. We should go on a family holiday. All of us together. Jasmine and I will help plan it all.”

“I’m sure you would,” I said, trying to swallow down my discomfort.

Me. Holding everyone back.

“We could get married on the beach,” Dylan said. Bastard.

“Don’t you start,” I warned him, smiling, as he and Constance shared some kind of knowing look.

I hated it. Their scheming and tricking me into doing things.

“You’re in on this one, aren’t you?” I grumbled.

“Not guilty.” He held up his hands and kissed me. “This is all Constance’s doing. Well, apart from that, yes, I would prefer you going with the kids.”

He was fighting a hard battle, and I was giving in. I knew it. The idea still terrified me, but at the same time…