Then one Monday evening, while I was trying to get our daughter Emma to sleep, a message appeared on our shared iPad.
“Dude, you weren’t exaggerating 😂”
At first, I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the photograph underneath.
It was me.
Standing in our kitchen that morning.
An old T-shirt.
Hair pulled back badly.
Emma pressed against my chest.
I hadn’t known anyone was taking a picture.
My stomach tightened.
The message came from Ryan’s brother, Glen.
At the top of the screen was the name of their group chat.
Brothers Only.
Ryan had logged into the iPad a few days earlier while his phone was being repaired.
I had never gone through his messages.
Never felt the need.
But now my photograph was sitting there beneath a laughing emoji.
So I opened the chat.
There were more pictures.
Several of me.
One had been taken while I was bending over the laundry basket.