The late morning sun filters through the kitchen window as you wrangle tiny socks onto Hazel’s feet. She’s practically buzzing with excitement, chattering about “big fish” and “sharks with teeth.” Willa sits on the floor beside her, holding one shoe in her lap and staring at it like it’s a puzzle. Simon crouches down beside her, helping her slip it on, his hands gentle despite their size.

“Ready, love?” he asks, glancing at you with that quiet smile that always makes your heart feel steadier.

You nod, one hand instinctively resting on your belly. The baby gives a small kick, as if they’ve caught the excitement too.

Inside, the lights dim and the air changes—it’s cooler, quieter, except for the soft hum of filtration systems and the occasional whoosh of water overhead. The first tank you approach stretches from floor to ceiling, filled with silver fish that dart together like a single shimmering ribbon. Hazel presses her face to the glass. “Look, Mummy! They’re all swimming the same way!” she says, her breath fogging the glass.