It was our first Christmas in our new home yesterday. Tom came to stay on Christmas Eve to spend Christmas with the kids. He’s still here. At least when he’s here I know he’s safe. I never spoke to him about us getting back together but I have made sure he’s been much more involved in our lives since his revelation a couple of weeks ago.
Christmas day was odd. The older kids went to their Dad’s house after dinner and won’t be back until tomorrow night so it was just Tom, Annie and I for the rest of the day. He laid on the sofa, under a quilt, watched the telly and fell asleep. I played with Annie and tidied up. It felt too normal, and not in a good way. Still, if this is the sacrifice I have to make to save him, then so be it but I’m very aware of how this is all so fucked up.
Tom woke this morning, came into my bedroom where Annie and I were still laying in bed. He climbed into the bed beside us and a few minutes later said, “A bacon sandwich would be lovely.” And I got up and made it. What the fuck am I doing?