I walk into the empty apartment two hours later, dump my bag on the table and survey the room. I don’t even want to be here, I should be at work organizing, instead of coming home to sob into my pillow. I need to get a grip of my life. Wilma is right and all of this has been non-stop, yet all I’ve done is bury my head in the sand and pushed myself to go to work, never taking the time to absorb it all. I need time to think. Real time to myself, to figure out what I’m going to do.

Do I want to work in Europe?...