I’m a single mother of two young children – the housework was always done at night, and then I finally saw it with my own eyes.

A shadow moved down the corridor, tall and broad-shouldered.

It was undoubtedly a man.

I gripped the edge of the sofa cushion, every muscle in my body tense as the figure moved towards the kitchen.

I heard the refrigerator door open and light flooded into the dark room, casting long shadows on the floor.

He bent down to reach inside, and I could see his hand moving, rearranging things.

Then he straightened up, holding a gallon of milk, placed it on the shelf, took the old one and closed the door.

When he turned around, the light from the hallway caught his face.

I felt like someone had punched me in the chest.

A shadow moved down the corridor, tall and broad-shouldered.

It was Luke.

My ex-husband.

For a moment, neither of us moved. He stood there, holding the half-empty milk jug, staring at me as if he had seen a ghost.

“Luke?” I jumped.

He flinched, his mouth opened, but no words came out.

I came out from behind the sofa, my hands trembling.

“What are you… Oh my God… What are you doing here?”

For a moment, none of us moved.

He looked down at the milk in his hand, then came back to me. “I didn’t want to wake the children.”

“How did you get in? How did you get the key?”

“You’ve never changed the locks,” he said softly.

“So you let yourself in all by yourself? In the middle of the night? Without telling me?”

He placed the milk jug on the counter and rubbed the back of his neck.

“How did you get in?”

How did you get the key?

“I came here one evening to talk, to tell you everything… but the key still worked, so I let myself in, and when I saw that you were all asleep, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

He paused.

“I was too embarrassed to wake you up, so I thought I’d help you first.”

“Help?” I crossed my arms. “You snuck into my house, you cleaned my kitchen, you bought supplies. What is this, Luke? What are you doing?”

He swallowed with difficulty. “I’m trying to sort things out.”

“Settle things right? You abandoned us three years ago, you walked out the door without looking back… and now you’re breaking into my house at three in the morning?”

“I’m trying to sort things out.”

“I know.” Her voice broke. “I know I don’t deserve to be here, but I needed to do something. I needed you to know I’m trying.”

“Try to do what?”

He took a shaky breath, and for the first time, I noticed how different he looked: older, tired, with lines around his eyes that weren’t there before.

“When I left,” he confessed, “I wasn’t just overwhelmed. I was in a bad way. Worse than you know.”

I didn’t say anything, I just waited.

“My business was failing,” he continued. “The partnership I had invested everything in was collapsing, and I was drowning in debt.”

“I know I don’t deserve to be here,”

But I needed to do something.

I needed you to know that I’m trying.