The idea that people I didn’t really know might see my growing belly, become somehow invested in my baby, and that if I lost her, I’d have to enter into a vicious, repetitive cycle of telling people, over and over again that she was gone, was too much to bear. I told close friends and family that I was expecting a baby, but I shut out everyone else. The people I’d joke with daily on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter were neatly compartmentalised away. My partner and I had left London, our home of many years, the year before and moved to a place where neither of us knew anyone, so keeping my bump under wraps wasn’t too difficult. I simply stopped posting photographs of myself online. My parents and sister knew I was pregnant, and my very best friends knew (from the second I turned down that first tequila). But unless I saw people in real life, I didn’t share; I was scared to.