”Enjoy your new home,”

The shiny key slid onto my set of keys, accompanied by a goofy photo keyring of Maeve and I, my parent‘s spare key and a lustrous silver heart with the date of Jonathan and I’d wedding - 05.07.17.

A date that meant so much to me (arguably the best, most memorable day of my life, maybe a close second with the day Maeve was born). It was a divine day. From getting ready with my gaggle of bridesmaids, my arm intertwined with my father’s as we strode down the aisle and the celebratory night that... I might not be able to remember.

Merrily, we sauntered down the pathway of the estate agents, Jonathan and I, hand in hand, and Maeve balanced on my hip, strangling my neck in a tight, affectionate embrace. Jonathan zapped his car keys, subsequently the lights on his BMW blinked on and off whilst making an eager beep. As we arrived at the car we split, I took the right side of the car, strapped Maeve in her car seat and then got in myself. Next to me, Jonathan appeared in the drive’s seat after inspecting a minor scratch that he hadn’t ever noticed before.

“Bloody city drivers,“ he roared “couldn’t they have left a note or something?”

Maeve subdued her childish muttering and retreated her head against her car seat, like a turtle’s neck hiding in its shell, in response to her Dad’s distress.

Carefully, we drove down one of the reticent city roads and met up with a wide, three-laned road. We neared central London en route to our new house. We drove parallel to the Thames, tonnes of tourists lined along gazing out at boats floating gently along the river. Slightly murky, the river rapidly rushed brimming with sticks and litter. On our left was a row of restaurants - with stunning views - ranging from a fine-dining restaurant to a classy, contemporary daytime cafeteria. We steadily rolled along past the London Eye. Maeve and I looked out the rolled down windows in awe at the grand landmark, lazily turning, each pod crammed with people. I looked over at Jonathan, he looked disinterested - no expression - like he would rather be anywhere else other than this pictures city with his wife and perfect toddler.

Jonathan then raised his hand from the gearstick to the steering wheel, to turn the car and drove over the Thames via Westminister Bridge. All of a sudden, we connected with the Big Ben.

“Wow, that‘s tall!” Maeve blurted passionately.

“Can you say ‘Big Ben’, Maevey?” I questioned.

“‘ig ‘en,” she responded with a babyish tone.

“Close, well done!” I praised “didn’t she do good, Daddy?”

He replied with a single, expressionless “yes,”

“Anything wrong, love?”

“ No, I’m fine, just a funny tummy, I think,”

Maeve snickered in the back.

“You know this is the right thing to do, after everything that‘s happened since Maeve,” I remarked. During maternity leave, I suffered from post-natal depression. So Jonathan and I decided it would be best to move somewhere with more going on (London) to hurl me back into society to lead a normal adulthood. We chose to move to the Westminister area as I have a couple of close friends within five minutes of our new home.

We continued driving and skimmed past Buckingham Palace with a brisk glimpse of the guards stood outside in their towering bats. We took a few more turns. Left, then right, right again. Jonathan’s face still didn’t change from the monotonous expression, Finally, we pulled up at the house greeted by the hefty removal van.

It was a 3 bedroom townhouse, with lavish red bricks amply scattered with traditional Victorian windows. Jonathan unbolted the black, metal gates and stepped onto the well-kept, white gravel. I caught the gate just before it clattered into the fence and held it open for Maeve to fiddle through. Sluggishly, Jonathan paced up the few steps to the raised royal blue door. We followed. I reached into my coat pocket until I heard the jingle jangle of my keys. I pulled then out and sifted through them until I found the shiniest. It slotted perfectly into the keyhole. Maeve charged in, I pathetically jogged after her. She lay on the floor, rolling in the soft, luxurious carpet.

It was a dreamy house.

Frantically, me and Maeve sashayed past Jonathan (face lit up by his phone, scrolling through social media) into the kitchen. Maeve wandered into the unlit room, I flicked the switch and flooded the room with artificial light. Glossy white cabinets lined the walls, accessorised by a central island with grey velour barstools tucked neatly underneath. My eyes circled the rooms: a 5-ring hob; a raised oven combi-grill and a modern, shiny sink under a well-lit window. Through a curved archway was a grand dining room, the back wall lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I could picture our new, glass dining table centred on a silver, fluffy rug. Maeve ran up the stairs, I looked at Jonathan- a face of nothingness.

“Would of thought you’d be excited we’ve been talking about it for months,“

“I am. I just miss the countryside, I don‘t think this is for us,”

“This is the new normal now, thats if you want us all to stay as a family,”

Jonathan didn’t say anything.

“Well, do you?”

My eyebrows raised in disgust to Jonathan‘s silence, Upset, I turned and trudged up the stairs to check on Maeve. She was leant on a low windowsill, her head propped up on her elbows. Mumbling to herself, she was watching the pigeons, following them flying from left to right, or right to left. She chuckled.

Suddenly , the door slammed shut. Had someone arrived. Removal men? Probably not. I guessed Jonathan had left.

I strutted out to my car, leaving Maeve and Kate upstairs in the house. Zapping my car to unlock it, I looked behind me to check if Kate had followed me out. She hadn’t. I sat in the driver’s seat and drove. Just drove. Contemplating what my life has become. I love Kate, I really do. And i realise that after her difficult struggle with mental health since Maeve was born meant that she needed a fresh start to make her feel less alone. She has felt like a complete different person since being here, in London, nevertheless, I still can’t imagine living here and making a life for ourselves here. We belong in the countryside. We’re making the wrong decision. I felt myself getting more and more angry. With myself? With Kate? As my face scrunched further, my hands tightened on the steering wheel, my foot heavier on the accelerator. My turns became sharper. My car went faste. Suddenly, my foot began shaking in time with the speed gauge dial. Until...

3,700 people die in car accidents globally, each day.