Barry's in a mood again.
I start making dinner while the kids play out in the puddle-filled backyard. It always brings peace of mind when I can watch them out the kitchen window.
"Dinner's ready", I yell out. "Sarah and Dylan, take your shoes off please, I don't want mud dragged through the house again". I feel like I repeat this request day after day.
As we eat, I ask the kids about school, while Barry barely acknowledges us and just gobbles down his food.
"Barry, did you hear how well Sarah did at her sports day?" I ask hoping he'll listen.
Barry stares up at me, sighs loudly, takes his dinner to the lounge and turns on the TV.
Sarah looks hurt but manages to tell me about coming 3rd in the 100m sprint.
I tell her I'm proud of her, then ask them to eat up before I clear the plates. They never eat much anymore, they used to love the food I made. Maybe I need to make something more interestimg!
I tell the kids to get ready for bed while I clean the dishes and prepare the next days' lunches.
Barry silently steps in to help, and eventually says "I think you need to see someone, this can't go on." Great, this conversation again. Barry thinks I'm losing my mind.
"It's been 4 years", he says, "pretending they're here isn't going to bring them back".
I disagree. They're already back.
How else would there be muddy footprints in the hallway every night?