Amber groomed her hair with her fingers and rubbed the mascara from her eyes with the last clean corners of the makeup wipe. She checked her reflection one last time, slipped on her sunglasses, and got out of the car.

The day was cold with the turn of the season. Christmas decorations were already beginning to line the street, she thought, and envisioned the approaching celebrations and how Richard’s mess would have been cleared up by then. Come Christmas Day, it would all seem like a bad dream, and he would have her to thank.

Amber stepped into the café and the noise hit her instantly. Locals nattered over plates of cake and cups of coffee. A baby cried in a Moses basket in one of the booths where a mother rocked it half-heartedly as she spoke over the noise. A man passed her with a Christmas takeaway cup in hand and stepped out into the street without a glance in her direction. She had dressed in baggy, unflattering clothes for the event, and it was strange not to be devoured by a man’s eyes. But she had to give Neena the right impression. She walked over to the table and sat down.

‘Sorry,’ Neena said, with slight alarm. ‘That seat’s taken. I’m meeting someone.’

Neena was far prettier up close. She had long black hair that gleamed in the light. Amber knew it would be silky soft if she were to run her hand through it, and wondered how many times her husband had done so. From her Indian heritage, the woman’s skin was golden brown, and her eyes were large and framed by long lashes. She was in her yoga instructor gear. The skin tight clothes revealed every toned muscle and the faint outline of her nipples. A duffel coat hung on the back of her chair. She was younger, of course, as the cliché goes. Amber hadn’t expected anything less.

Amber took off her sunglasses and looked down sheepishly.

‘Are you all right?’ Neena asked and placed her hand over hers.

Amber immediately thought that the woman was too good to meddle with the likes of her. She would learn in time. Amber was helping her in the long run.

‘I’m sorry to ambush you like this, but it’s for your own good.’

Neena’s large eyes widened further. The hand over hers began to shake. ‘It’s Richard,’ she continued. ‘He’s not the man you think he is.’

Neena took her hand away.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m his wife.’

Amber watched every flicker of emotion in the woman’s eyes: disbelief that her lover’s wife was sitting before her, and then shame, then fear, before her eyes fell on the bruise and her hand rose to her mouth.

‘Did he…?’

‘He’s done worse,’ Amber replied. ‘That’s why I’m here. You’re not safe.’