It was our first Christmas in our new home yesterday. Tom came to stay on Christmas Eve to spend Christmas with the children. He’s still here.  At least when he’s here, I know he’s safe.

I never spoke to him about us getting back together, but I have made sure he’s been much more involved in our lives since his revelation a couple of weeks ago.

Christmas was odd. The older children went to their Dad’s house after dinner and won’t be back until tomorrow night, so it was just Tom, Annie and me in the afternoon and evening. He lay on the sofa, under a quilt, watched the TV and fell asleep. I played with Annie and tidied up. It felt too normal, and not in a good way. Still, if this is the sacrifice I have to make, then so be it.

But, I’m very aware of how much this is all so fucked up.

He woke this morning, came into my bedroom where Annie and I were still lying in bed. He climbed into the bed beside us and, a few minutes later, said, “A bacon sandwich would be lovely.”
I got up and made it.

What the fuck am I doing?