from her and peel back the oozing crust of melted cheese. “There’s veg in it.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Is that supposed to be funny? Did you know the methane from cows is twenty-five times worse for the environment than CO2?”
“Try being in a briefing room with twelve hairy coppers. Cows have got nothing on them.”
“Daddy says we can build a snowman!”
Becca shrugs. “If you like.” She picks up her phone again to check the ever-present notifications, and I feel my own fingers twitch in response. Addiction carries muscle memory, and my thumb can swipe its own way to a fix before any conscious thought emerges to stop it.
Sophia has the fridge open, rifling through the vegetable tray. She emerges triumphantly with a carrot. “Now a hat.” She runs into the hall to find what she needs, and I put the lasagna back in the oven to keep it warm. There’s a veggie burger in the freezer—probably left over from the last time Becca babysat—and I put it under the grill.
Bundled back up in their boots and coats, Becca and Sophia go outside. They scoop up armfuls of virgin snow, Sophia whooping with the novelty of playing in the dark, and I close the door, watching for a second through the glass back door.
My fingers meet around my phone. I move away from the door, but they’re still too close, and I head for the bedroom. I take the stairs two at a time, my pulse quickening in anticipation, the way your mouth waters when it knows it’s almost time to eat. I glance out the window, checking the girls are still occupied, feeling the rush of conflicting emotions that always comes when I look at Sophia.
“She’s such a happy little soul,” Miss Jessop had said at parents’ evening.
Mina had glanced at me. “That’s good to hear. She’s… We struggle with her. Sometimes.” Sometimes. Try most of the time. Another glance toward me, looking for support.
“Her behavior can be challenging,” I said. “She has meltdowns—epic meltdowns. They go on for an hour or more.” Life with Sophia can be like crossing ice, never quite knowing when it might crack. At the mercy of a five-year-old’s emotions.
“She can be very controlling,” Mina added. She was speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Possessive. Of me, mostly. It causes some…” She hesitated. “Tension.”
There was a pause as Miss Jessop took this in. “Hmm, I have to say this isn’t something we’re experiencing at school. I mean, I’m aware of her psych assessment, but to be honest, you’d never know to look at her. I wonder…” She looked at each of us in turn, her head tilted to one side. “Could she be picking up on any problems at home?”
The only thing that stopped me from losing my shit completely was knowing I’d be adding weight to her argument. I waited till we were off school property, but Mina got there first.
“How dare she! What, so basically it’s our fault Sophia has behavioral problems? Nothing to do with having a birth mother who didn’t remember she had kids half the time or the fact that she had two different foster families before she reached us?” She burst into tears. “Is it us, Adam? Are we doing something wrong?”
In a rare moment of togetherness, she had let me put my arms around her. “It’s not us,” I told her. She’d smelled different—a new shampoo, maybe—and it had made my heart hurt that a bit of her felt like a stranger. “At least it’s not you. You’re an amazing mum.”
Alone now in what used to be our bedroom, I look at my phone. I open my messages, and the familiar rush of shame and fear comes flooding out. I’ve fucked up so badly. I’ve got deeper and deeper into something so toxic, I can’t get out of it, and I’ve dragged Mina and Sophia into it too.
My daughter’s face flashes into my mind, tearstained and confused. Too scared even to speak. It was Katya who’d done the talking, after Sophia had stopped crying and was huddled in a blanket in front of the TV, as if she were ill.
“I not do this any more.” Katya went upstairs.
I followed her up. “Please, Katya—”
She hauled out her cases from under the bed and started throwing in clothes. “No more lying. Is finished.”
“Don’t tell Mina, I’m begging you.” Things between us were already bad. We were hardly talking, and Mina had begun to question me in a way