I cry at my first flat viewing, and my second. Through single beds and shared cupboard spaces, I tell strangers how my “forever romance” ended just weeks earlier and how I actually have no clue what I’m doing.

I’m 32, very nearly 33, and my years-long relationship had been a ticking time bomb ever since I said the words “I want children”. I knew, right from the start, that my former partner did not feel the same.