‘Aren’t you inquisitive this morning,’ she replied, and sighed away the rage. ‘I’m always cold in the mornings.’

She went to the sink expecting to find Richard’s coffee mug stained with a dark ring and dregs of cream nestled at the bottom. She checked the dishwasher: he had tided it away inside. Richard had no idea that his small, unconscious acts of kindness were his undoing. His guilt left behind its own trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow.

She stood on the other side of the island with her coffee and watched Samantha eat breakfast. God, how she loved her. Of all she had achieved, from creating the life she had made for herself from the meagre start her parents had given her, to her grand house designed from her mind’s eye, her daughter was her most prized creation.

‘Have you revised for your exams next week?’

‘Yeah. Mr Hynes thinks I’ll pass,’ Samantha said with a mouthful of cereal and milk lining the parting of her mouth. It reminded Amber of when she breastfed her, and how her milk had lingered in bubbles on her lips.

‘That’s brilliant. You’ve always been good at maths. I never have. How did I create such a smart young woman?’

Samantha smiled.

‘Daddy’s good at maths. Maybe I got it from him.’

Daddy is a lot of things.

‘Yes, maybe.’

Samantha was incredibly intelligent for her age. People always underestimated her because of her learning disability, but that was a good thing – her daughter could use their assumptions against them, once she learned to control the people around her. Amber would teach her when she was older. Samantha would be her own little protégée.

After Samantha drank the remaining milk from the edge of the bowl, she breathed out heavily and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

‘You’re not dressed, Mummy,’ she said.

Amber eyed the milk on her daughter’s shirtsleeve and wondered if it would be too pedantic to ask she change into a fresh one.

‘I think I’m coming down with something,’ she lied and took a sip of coffee. ‘I’m taking it easy this morning.’

The doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be Laura.’

Samantha threw her backpack over one shoulder and rushed down the hall.

‘Bye, Mum!’

Amber rushed after her.

‘Samantha, wait!’

Samantha stopped just before the door with an eager hand on the latch.

‘Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?’

Samantha met her halfway down the hall. Amber cupped her face in her hands and admired every freckle and lash. Her daughter’s breath smelled of sweet milk, and her differing eyes stared up at her as though two people were trapped in one skull. Amber kissed her on the forehead.

‘Have a good day, darling.’