I was folding washing. Endless sports kit. I couldn’t see them but I could hear them chatting in the kitchen, no doubt searching for something to eat.
It’s May 2024 and there’s a month left of the school year. In September Luca goes into Terminale, his last year of school. He’s 16. Raphaël, my youngest, is 12. They’ve been collectively known as “the boys” since they were little.
They were talking about football transfers and I started to zone out when suddenly I heard Luca say “you know Rapha, this is probably going to be the last year we ever live together”.
I felt my heart squeeze and my stomach sink. There is something achingly beautiful and also heart wrenchingly sad about watching your children grow up but their relationship, in particular, has always fascinated me. This is for the boys.
