“I come bearing pastries!” I close the door behind myself with my foot, my hands full with tea and paper bags full of goods.

The flat is oddly silent as I make my way into the kitchen, but that quickly changes when I see Winnie run out of the bathroom with her towel wrapped around her frame. She’s giggling loudly, mischievously, and I know she’s up to something. Especially when I see you race out after her, half-soaked from trying to bathe her.

Winnie runs right up to my legs, grabbing on like I’m her life raft. I scoop her up and sit her on my hip, watching you stop to catch your breath against the kitchen counter.

“Giving Mummy a headache, hm? You little gremlin.” I tickle her stomach, making her laugh even harder. At just 4 years old, she’s already a master at manipulating and getting her way. How could she not when she’s this adorable.

But I force myself to turn my attention to you, standing with your hip against the counter now, hand rested on your growing bump.

“You know, you could always wait until I get here for her baths. You shouldn’t be straining yourself so much, it’s not good for the babies.” You just roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it, and grab your cup of tea from the carrier. I sit Winnie down on the counter to let her dig into the pastry bags.

Six months ago, our lives changed forever. And it was all my fault.

It was my first week home from tour, and I couldn’t hold the guilt in anymore. It was eating away at me like a damn parasite. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done and the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say out loud.

You had and had gotten married young, when we were just 20 years old. We had found out that you were pregnant with Winnie and decided to tie the knot. We didn’t see a reason why not to. We were so deeply in love and happy, and we were having a baby together. It all just made sense.

Time jump 5 years, and we were still together, but our lives looked a little different. You were preoccupied with Winnie and raising her while I was out doing what I loved with my music. It was fine. We only got in small arguments but the love was still there. We let each other have the freedom we wanted.

But I made the mistake of stretching that freedom a bit too thin.

While on tour, I had gotten drunk, and… I slept with someone. A woman I’d met at an after party for some event I can’t even remember. What I can remember is waking up the next morning to her bare body next to mine and immediately throwing up—not just from the alcohol the night before.

It was only a week later when I returned home back to my family, to you and Winnie. And I couldn’t hold it in anymore. So, I told you. I burned down our lives and left you in the ruins. I’ll never get the expression on your face when I told you out of my mind.

We decided to separate a few days after that. After you realized that there was no way you could respect yourself, and Winnie, and stay with me. No matter how sorry and regretful I was. But I understood.

I helped you with anything you needed. Getting your own flat, the furniture and everything you needed for Winnie. All of it I was willing to still give to you, especially because there wasn’t any divorce.

No divorce because you were pregnant. 3 weeks pregnant when I cheated on you, when I tore my family apart. It was like life was being thrown at us in all directions. So, we weren’t together, we didn’t live in the same house, and yet you’re pregnant with my children—yes, plural, twins.

It’s so fucked up to me that this is all the consequences to my actions, but I’ve had to learn how to live with it. How to overcome it and still try to be there for my family.

How to try and win my family back.

I’m not sure if there’s a reality where you’d ever trust or love me again, but I’ll die trying to see if there’s is.

That’s why I’m here every day like clockwork, helping you with Winnie and anything else you need. I always come with food and regret I hold close to my heart. One I hope you can see and understand.

“How are my favorite people doing this morning?”