I am standing on my stoep in my apron. The sun isn’t up yet. My 14-year-old daughter slings her backpack over her shoulder, flicking back her red hair. She barely pauses as Isnatch a peck on a smooth cheek.
Her dad, my wonderful partner of 22 years, is already starting the car. I wave goodbye and wonder at how we could have produced such abeauty – this tall, elegant, confident teenager, leader among friends, elegant and talented ballet dancer, high-achieving academic.
I wipe my hands on my apron and think that this must look like the perfect little family: dad going off to work and mom happily staying home to keep house.
That’s not how it is, actually.
I am only here this morning
