Relief flooded her. It even drowned out the voice in the back of her head that wondered why they hadn’t discussed it before now. And if he really thought they’d improved, or if he just didn’t agree with the mirror therapy was holding up to him.

“Okay.”

“Maybe we could spend the evenings this week having dinner?” he asked.

He was trying. But in ways that suited him. Still, her palms felt sweaty—he was trying more than she was. She, who was having sex with someone else.

Cora cleared her throat, tried to hold her voice steady. “I have the training for the program this week in the evenings.”

He knew that. She was sure Frazer had said she’d e-mailed him. Or talked to him. Or something. And Cora had mentioned it, hadn’t she? Yes, she had, last week.

“You never told me that.”

She was sure she had. “Didn’t I mention it last week?”

Alec changed gears smoothly. “You always think you’ve said things you haven’t. You didn’t tell me.”

She had. She was sure. Or maybe she’d meant to.

Maybe she hadn’t. She had been distracted. “Well,” she said, “sorry.”

“Good. It’s fine.”

He offered the words like a gift, and she took them gratefully. No argument. It was refreshing. She hated feeling stupid for hours at forgetting something or thinking she’d told him something when she hadn’t.

“So, dinner?” He pulled smoothly into the hospital car park.

“I can’t, Alec. I’m sorry. I have to be there for the training.”

His jaw clenched. “Your work takes up so much of your time.”

If he hadn’t spoken so seriously, she would have laughed. She’d managed to ensure that she always worked the morning shifts, was always at home when he’d wanted her to be. His hours could be absurd. She opened her mouth to point out that he’d had to disappear until midnight on a Sunday, but guilt made her close her mouth. What had she done the second he’d left?

“It’s just a week, Alec.”

“Fine.”

He got out of the car and walked away, leaving her to catch up.

* * *

Later, in her office, Cora’s hands were shaking, and she couldn’t explain why.

She put her bag on the floor and pulled everything out. Dismissively, she dropped her pocketbook, her phone, wallet, keys, everything on the floor. Finally, it was empty. There, at the bottom, squashed, was the pamphlet she’d left untouched for so long.

Emotional abuse? Was that really something?

She didn’t feel abused by Alec. Sometimes she felt squashed, but wasn’t that marriage?

Then why had she taken it? Kept it?

Her hands were still shaking.

She opened the pamphlet. Closed it again. She opened it. Phrases jumped out at her:

Manipulation is an emotional abuser’s favourite tool. Does your partner:

Demand all your attention.