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‘I suppose he’s quite confused right now. It still hasn’t sunk in, the realization of the loss.’

‘Have you talked?’

‘He asked me to call him and to see the kids.’

Mom hurries to leave, and I make such a big fuss about calling Luuk, hoping we’ll manage to lift his mood a bit, that we almost throw a party, when his face appears on screen.

‘Luu…’ Ada says, hopping on the couch, still struggling with some consonants.

‘Hey, prettiest girl in the world.’

My daughter beams at him.

I love how the call perks up his stricken and exhausted self. I’m trying to imagine him in the home he shared with his dad, how empty it must be, what it’s like for Luuk to know that the last member of his family is no more.

‘Cheepjes?’ Otto doesn’t forget how Luuk loves the song.

‘You wanna sing the scheepjes for me?’ Luuk’s voice catches by merely saying the word.

I try to distract my son, so that we don’t involuntarily trample on a broken heart. ‘Not now, baby. How about we sing The Wheels of the Bus instead?’

Otto looks baffled. ‘Cheepjes?’ he asks again.

‘I’d love to hear the scheepjes,’ Luuk says.

Otto starts clapping when the song starts, and Ada joins him. I lift them both with an ‘Oof, getting heavier by the day,’ and we start singing and swinging, while Luuk watches, fingers pressed around his mom’s ring. Soon, we’re like a broken record, playing on a loop.

My heart breaks when tears roll down Luuk’s cheeks, and I’m about to distract the kids, but he nods for us to go on. I hate we can’t be around for a hug or a hundred of them, just for comfort and the promise we’ll always be there for him. So we keep singing while he lets it all out and finally mouths, Thank you.

‘All right, guys,’ I say. ‘How about some fruit loops?’

The trick always works.

When I place their bowls with a few pieces of colourful cereal in front of them, Ada stirs the fruit loops with her little finger to reveal the black figure of the little girl stamped on hers.

‘Anneke,’ she says.

‘Janneke,’ I correct her. ‘Jip’—I show Otto’s bowl for the boy figure—‘and Janneke.’

‘Ada,’ she points at herself, before pointing at her brother. ‘Otto.’

‘And?’ I show myself.

‘Mama!’ she squeals.

‘And who is this?’ I point at Luuk.

Ada’s face lights up. ‘Papa!’

Luuk

‘Papa!’ I’m yanked from my memories and look at Ada.

‘Papa?’ Otto repeats, thrilled.

Their mom, on the other hand, looks absolutely terrified. ‘No, sweetie, this is Luuk,’ she corrects, before turning towards me. ‘I’m so sorry! We do this at my parents’, and she’s confused by me calling her Opa papa.’

‘It’s okay, Corrie. Really.’