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“Home.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed. “This is your home.”

I looked down at my hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t overhear our conversation.” His voice was full of pain, his eyes frigid and bleak when they reopened.

“I have to go.” It was all I could say.

He swore under this breath. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” I breathed.

“Emily, I’m not going to let you go.”

“Please,” I begged.

He shook his head. “No, sweetheart. Your place is here. You live here.”

“I can’t stay, Dylan. It’s too much. I’ll be okay.”

He rubbed his face with his hands.

“So help me, I’m trying to keep my temper here. You are not going anywhere. You are too young to be on your own. You’ve just lost your entire family. You are in no fit state to look after yourself. If you think for one minute I’m going to let you leave, you are very much mistaken.”

“I want to go.”

“No, you don’t. You’re overreacting to a conversation you shouldn’t have overheard. Lulu and I…” He shook his head, lost for words.

“I can see what I’m doing to you both. It would be easier for you if I left.”

“Easier!” he exclaimed. “Easier for me! You must be joking! Can you imagine how I’d feel if you left? What a failure I’d be? I can’t even think about it. Emily, your place is here now. I’ll look after you. I want to look after you. Please, please stop this nonsense. It’s breaking my heart.”

Tears pooled in my eyes.

“Please,” he implored me.

I put my head in my hands and started to weep. I couldn’t bear it.

His arms were around me in seconds, holding me close. I felt him exhale, a long tense breath.

“You shouldn’t have heard us. That stuff is between Lu and me; it has nothing to do with you.”

I sniffled. “It has everything to do with me.”

“No, sweetheart, it doesn’t.”

He held me for what seemed like ages.

“Come,” he said once I had quieted. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me downstairs to the kitchen.

“Where’s Lulu?”

“She’s gone to work. Sit.” He motioned me to the dining table.

I sat down while he filled the kettle. I watched him as he worked. He was dressed in jeans as usual with a black cotton shirt, and his feet were bare. He ran his hands through his hair, making it spiky. I liked it spiky. I noticed that the buttons on his shirt were misfastened.

“Your buttons,” I said as I reached for the box of tissues.