My daughter and I decorated a photo frame together. She told me when it was my turn to colour and what pens to use. Then she stuck on sparkly gems.

When I asked her if she’d like to choose a photo for her frame, she asked for one of her and daddy. So together we looked through photos, and she chose the one she liked best. She put it on her bookshelf and they smile out at me.

She sees herself, wrapped in her father’s smiling embrace. The sun is shining. We were at the farm.

I see the guilt in his face for not coming home the night before. I see his reluctance to be there. I remember how he dozed on benches in the sunshine while our daughter and I fed ducks and petted goats. I remember asking to take that photo because I didn’t have many of them together, because he was never around. I remember thinking if he could just see himself with her, the way I did, maybe he’d realise what he was missing out on. I remember trying so desperately hard to enjoy a normal, family day out. I remember him telling me how pointless it was because she was too young to remember.

I’m glad she doesn’t remember. I’m glad she looks at that photo and smiles and feels as though she is loved. I’m glad she doesn’t see the twist in my stomach every time it catches my eye. The gems sparkling, cheap and superficial.