So, Stephen and I walked into the sunset hand in hand, with a nice little windfall and our two gorgeous children. I was reconciled with my mother, an Arabian prince with a conscience fell in love with my step-sister and my friend Ruby's ex-nanny side-stepped the X-Factor and became a real popstar. Oh, and Ruby got divorced and Beth got engaged. Happy ever after. There really didn't seem to be anything more to say.
Then we started looking into the local primary schools for Toby. Apparently we've 'left it late.' On what planet have I left it late? He's not even three. School didn't start till five last time I looked.
Stephen's boss announced that there would be 'changes in the company'. If Stephen loses his job, don't know what we'll do.
And Stephen's parents hinted in their Christmas card that retirement in Cyprus isn't all they thought it would be.
Of these three potential disasters, the third is by far the worst.
I've had two happily ever afters. One when Stephen and I married. The second as described above. And now I need a third. I've got a horrible feeling that things got so good that now they can only get worse.
