Last night at just after 4am, the doorbell rang.

The dog started barking and racing through the house. Steve and I leapt out of bed, confused and startled.

He got to the door first and as I caught up I saw a dark figure through the screen asking, “Does Nicola live here?”

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and then I realised the man standing at our door was wearing a police uniform.

Around about 13 or 14 years ago, soon after we started dating, Steve and I went to see a Harry Potter movie together. As part of the promotions for the film, they were selling chocolate frogs with collector cards. Steve gave me a card with Harry Potter and Ollivander, the wand maker on it and jokingly made me promise that I would never throw it away. I put it in my wallet and I promised. Over the years each time one wallet got old and was thrown away, I dutifully moved the Harry Potter card from the old one to the new one.

Last night Steve worked late. Five years ago this would have been hell for me. When Maddie was a toddler and Piper was a newborn, when my PND hadn’t yet been diagnosed… I didn’t cope in the evenings when he worked late. I was lonely, I was overwhelmed and I hated myself.

But last night, things were smooth. The girls played together beautifully. Maddie did her homework and they both ate their dinner well. I’m not saying things were perfect. Things still went wrong – one of the girls was getting undressed for the bath, got her arm stuck in her shirt, realised she needed the toilet, panicked when her arm was still stuck and peed on the floor. No big deal, we all have accidents. There’s wee on the floor? Okay, so I’ll clean it up and give her a hug (because I know she’s embarrassed) and tell her it doesn’t matter.

And so the difference was me.

I didn’t hate myself anymore.

Do you know how much easier it is to live in this world when you’ve finally stopped hating yourself? When you’ve stopped calling yourself a failure day after day?

When Steve finally finished work, I bundled pyjama clad girls up in blankets to put them in the car and go pick him up. I grabbed my handbag and the strap broke. It flew off my arm and the bag landed on the floor. I left the bag and just grabbed my purse.

On the way to pick Steve up, I saw my purse tumble off the passenger seat and fall down between the door and the seat. When Steve opened the door to hop in the car, it fell out onto the road. But neither of us noticed.

The police officer at the door explained, “Someone found your purse on Carrington Road. Can you tell me how much money was in it?”

I stared at him stupidly.

Found my purse?

My purse was missing?

I didn’t know my purse was missing.

How did my purse end up on the road?

Why are you telling me this at 4 in the morning?!

 Fucking hell, I thought you were here to tell me that someone had died!

“Twenty bucks?” I guessed.

“Twenty eight dollars and forty five cents in change?”

He must have noticed that we were staring at him like he was insane.

“Sorry to wake you up. If we don’t get it back to you before six, we have to book it all in, every single card…”

“That’s fine, that’s fine – thank you so much.”

After he left, Steve looked at me. “Wow. That’s service.”

We stumbled back down the dark hallway to our bedroom. Climbed into bed. I lay awake, thinking about what could have been. Thinking about how many people there are in the world who get a knock on the door in the middle of the night and receive the worst news they can imagine. I ached for them. I took a moment to appreciate just how lucky I am.

In the morning I looked through my purse.

I found the Harry Potter card still tucked into a back pocket.