"I don't know how much she'll remember." "She'll remember the feeling," she said. "Of being loved, and safe, and held. The rest comes later." The mugs steamed quietly between us. I could hear Tima's breathing from the other room—slow, even, the kind of deep sleep that only the tiniest bodies seem to know. Eira had her hand tucked protectively over Hoppy's leg. I couldn't quite tell who was holding who. Steph's hand drifted over and rested on mine. Just for a second. "We'll be here when you get back." "I know," I said. And I did.

The rain kept falling. The fire dimmed to a slow pulse. And eventually, we drifted too—two tired grown-ups under a wool blanket, trying not to dream too loudly before the morning came.

Bore da. The sun came in low and soft through the kitchen window, casting long strips of gold across the tiles. It made the steam from the kettle glow, rising like some quiet spirit into the beams of light. The old radiator under the sill ticked faintly as it warmed, and a faint birdsong trickled in from the hedgerow, already caught in the swell of June. Tima sat on the floor beside the bags, legs folded beneath her like a storybook fox, nursing a slice of toast with one hand and Hoppy tucked into the crook of the other arm. She'd insisted Hoppy have his own bite, and now a buttery smear marked the hippo's snout. She didn't seem to mind.

The checklist was open on the table—lined, creased, scribbled. A highlighter sat on top like a flag in conquered territory. Socks, checked. Passports, checked. Nappies, snacks, wipes, three pairs of leggings, toothbrush, travel blanket. Eira had helped draw a little airplane beside the word important. "Do you think Swedish buses look different?" Eira asked, picking at the corner of her cereal box.

"Maybe," I said, glancing up. "Or maybe they just drive on the wrong side and have better snacks." She smiled at that, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was dressed already—her favourite yellow shirt, hair still damp from the bath last night. She stood by the kitchen counter with that look she wore when she wasn't sure how much she was allowed to feel. Tima was going, and she wasn't.

I reached over, gently tapped her arm. "You can still draw us a map, remember? So we don't get lost." Eira nodded, solemn. "Okay. But you have to promise to follow it." "We will," I said. "Even if it leads us to the moon." Tima climbed up onto the bench beside me with a grunt, dragging Hoppy by one leg. She nestled against my side and held out her toast with half a smile. "Tad, here!." I took the bite she offered, exaggerating a chewing sound that made her giggle.