I want to talk to Sarah. But I don’t want to text her. I want her here, with me, waiting for me with open arms, wrapping her arms around me and letting me rest my head on her fantastic chest, running her hands through my hair and telling me that I’m doing a good job. More than anything that reassurance from her, the way she watches me with admiration when I interact with Sophie, that fills me up with … something. Pride? Assurance? Confidence? All of the above, I guess.
