On Wednesday, I had to go to my ex’s house. There were a few final bits to collect, and we needed to swap SIM trays — one of those dull, emotionless jobs that still manages to carry the weight of everything it represents.

There was no drama. No questions. Just in and out.

But in that brief time, I got to see the kids for the first time in weeks. And as simple as it was — a hug, a chat, a quick catch-up — it meant the world. They were full of stories, full of energy. And I realised just how much I’ve missed them. Immensely.

With everything else that’s been going on, I don’t think I’d fully stopped to process the part that hurts just as much as the rest: I’m no longer a part of their everyday lives.

From almost day one of being with my ex, I took those kids on like they were my own. I wasn’t a stand-in — I was their person. I even took legal parental responsibility for the youngest during our relationship. It mattered. They mattered. They still do.

It hit me that while kids adapt quickly, the adults don’t always do the same. It was easy to say a couple of weeks ago that stepping out of their lives would be easier. That it would protect me — that it would hurt less if I didn’t have to see her. But easier for me isn’t necessarily fairer for them. And maybe… maybe I was wrong to think I could handle that. Because I’m not sure I can.

I love those kids. Four years is a long time. It’s memories, routines, inside jokes, bedtime stories, scraped knees, giggles, tantrums — it’s life.

I think, when the dust settles a bit more, I’d like to ask my ex if there’s a way I can still see them — even if it’s just occasionally. A bike ride, a trip to the park, an ice cream on a sunny afternoon. Nothing complicated. Nothing with strings. Just a way to stay connected.

Not to keep a foot in the door with her. That’s not what this is. I’d see them away from the house. Away from us. Because the kids deserve that space — and so do we.

I’m not asking for friendship with my ex. I don’t even know if that’s ever going to be possible. But I can be civil. I can be kind. Especially for the sake of the children.

And I’m not expecting it to happen tomorrow. Or next week. I’m still hurting. There’s still healing to do.

But maybe, when the time feels right… the door to that part of my life doesn’t have to stay completely closed.