When you're stressed, children can be exhausting.

A repeated call of 'MUMMUMMUMMUM' can make a person lose control. Scream. Hit. Cry. When a household consists of two mothers, this could be doubled, rather than halved. It can be especially hard during meal or bedtimes, when the child doesn't want to eat broccoli because it's not pizza or go to sleep because they're not tired, despite the purple bags being packed under their eyes.

Our children were not like that.

I wouldn't say they couldn't be little nightmares when they wanted to be, particularly when they were meant to be going to sleep, but usually, they were well behaved. They ate, and enjoyed their vegetables. With a story and some night-time music, they would relax and go be fast off before the first song had finished.

So it was with ours. Alexandra would follow whatever her older sister did, as if she were a shadow of the bigger girl, and Grace knew this so played up to it. If one cried, they both did. If one threw a tantrum, we'd find them both on their backs on the floor, stamping their feet with arms folded. If Grace went to sleep quickly, we could be sure that Alex would be too.

After their meal, I bathed them together, having bath-time fun with their dolls. We snuggled on the sofa with their favourite book until they were yawning, and I carried them up to their rooms. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do, with Grace being so big, but I hoped there'd never come a day when I was unable to if they wanted or needed it. An audiobook was chosen over music, so I dimmed their lights and left them to Dawn French reading Coraline.

I'll be about 25 minutes, babe. Just leaving.

OK cool. See you soon.

You want me to grab an Indian?

Come home, babe. We'll decide when you get here. I can go collect.

Amanda's text was my 25 minute countdown. I poured myself a glass of wine and set to preparing our meal. I asked Alexa to play my main playlist and sang as I cooked. I was looking forward to this. Amanda would be tired and drained, but she'd be able to manage a smile, I was sure. I'd just lit the candles when I heard her car pull up. I topped up my wine and poured one for her, standing in the hallway ready for her to come in.

"Oh, you're amazing," she said when she saw the glass in my hand. "Just what I need."

"Yes, I am," I said. "But that's why you married me."

"One of the reasons, I suppose."

"Come on," I said, kissing her deeply before leading her to the dining table. "Dinner is served."

"Smells good! What did I do to deserve this treatment? What have you done?"

What have I done? I knew she was joking, but the comment still kicked me in the stomach.

"You don't want to know," I laughed, hoping it sounded sincere. "I'm allowed to treat my wife once in a while."

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

There was the smile. There was the affirmation that everything was, and was going to be, all right. We tapped our glasses together.

"Cheers."

"Tables."

Dinner was, to be fair, delicious. I wasn't the best cook in the world by far, but I could manage to serve up palatable dishes that had yet to make any of us ill. And I did love a steak. Even the kale was enjoyable, something that I was struggling to convince myself of. It was a vegetable. They were a necessity rather than a nice addition to a meal. I wasn't meant to like them so much.

"Dessert?" Amanda asked once she'd finished her meal.

"Later, once the girls are properly asleep."

"Nothing sweeter than you, baby," she purred.

I felt tingles down my spine, as if she'd run her nails across my back.

"Too right."

The conversation during the meal hadn't been stilted, but there was an air of expectation hanging over us. Amanda wanted to talk, I could tell, but didn't want to spoil the mood. I wanted her to talk, regardless of the mood, but couldn't tell her so. She'd get there, I knew. I had to be as normal as possible until then. And normal meant our usual innuendos and their reactions.

"I'll sort the pots in the morning," I told her. "Sofa, wine and Coro for you."

Watching Coronation Street was the only thing that Amanda had inherited from her mother. At least that was the only soap opera she was interested in. My mother in law could watch them end to end all day, if she had the chance. Work usually meant that Amanda had episodes to catch up on going back weeks, if she was unlucky, so I thought I'd let her relax and I'd feign interest. She knew I didn't care for them. My arms around her were enough to make me not mind.

And it would give her time to get to the point where she could speak more easily.

I stacked the dishes, refilled our glasses and moved to the lounge, where I set up her soap opera, giving her the remote control to choose the episode she wanted.

"Thanks, baby," she said as she sat beside me. She leaned against me, drawing my arm around her, our usual position. It meant I could stroke her hair, something I often did without thinking. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"You never catch up on Coro, and the older episodes keep getting deleted before you've watched them. So I Figured you should get the chance."

"And the meal?"

"I do cook sometimes, you know."

She laughed.

"Emphasis on the word 'sometimes.'"

I reached around suddenly, grabbing her sides to tickle her. Before long, Amanda was a giggling mess, barely able to avoid spilling her wine.

"OK! I give in! You're an amazing cook, and I'm lucky to have you."

"You can have me any time."

"After Coro."

"So cobbled streets and an old boozer beat me?"

"Every time."

We both laughed then. Everything was normal. Everything was good.

"You get stuck into this and I'll just quickly check on the girls," I said happily.

I took a gulp of wine and set my glass down, extricating myself from my wife.

"I was comfy!" she complained.

"You can get comfy again in a mo."

Amanda stuck out her tongue and I smiled, going upstairs to make sure our daughters were asleep. I didn't intend on Amanda seeing the closing credits of the episode before 'dessert' was served.

Grace and Alexandra had their own bedrooms, but could often be found asleep in the same bed. One or the other would sneak into the other's room and they'd read stories together. Occasionally, we'd insist on them returning to their own beds, but it was too cute to be overly angry. Sure enough, Alexandra was curled up on her sister's bed. She was on top of the duvet and her arm was draped over the older girl's.

I smiled. She'd even took her own pillow through, though this had been pushed to the side of the bed.

I lifted her gently, though they could both could sleep through a tornado whisking them off to Oz, and was about to take her back to her own bedroom when I paused. Why move her? Just let them sleep together. It wasn't hurting anyone and they'd still be up fine in the morning for school. I laid her back down next to grace and pulled the covers over them both.

Then picked up the pillow.

It felt suddenly heavy in my hands. Heavy in spite of the fact it was filled with feathers, something Alexandra thought would be the softest thing next to a cloud that she could sleep on.

Intent. It was weighted with an intent that I didn't realise I had. I stared at it, under a spell cast by a sickness I refused to believe I was suffering from. My eyes moved from the pillow to my daughters and back again. Each time, the pillow became heavier.

Heavy enough to, without the barest touch, suffoc...

I dropped it, spinning away and running to the bathroom.

I fell to my knees, threw the toilet seat up and leaned in.

And vomited.