‘Or have you lost weight because you’re stressed?’ Melissa Diamond threw me a synthetic smile—she was one of those people who simply couldn’t bring herself to compliment others, but I was not going to give her the joy of making me feel bad about myself.

‘Stressed? I haven’t felt this good in years.’

And this was true, in most ways. With each day that passed—and each moment I spent in Ragged Point—I felt less emotional, less of a failure and more positive about myself and the future. That had a lot to do with the friendships I’d made. People I hadn’t even known last year had now become my lifelines, and my new lifestyle was also healthier. Last week I’d gone to Pilates at the town hall twice with Jedda and Gail, and every morning I rose early and welcomed the sun with Charlie as we walked along the beach. There was something about starting the day with sand running through my toes, fresh air pumping through my lungs and the backdrop of the shimmering ocean that never failed to put a smile on my face. More than once Dan had joined us, and the days he didn’t Charlie missed him, drooping his tail and glancing longingly up at the glass mansion when we passed by.

I won’t lie—my dog wasn’t the only one who enjoyed Dan’s company. We got along so well it felt like we’d known each other much longer and conversation was effortless. Talking about our family issues meant we had plenty to discuss, even if we hadn’t had the island fundraiser to plan as well. The DNA test kit that he’d ordered had arrived last Monday. He’d spat into the tube, sent it back almost immediately, and was now waiting impatiently for the results. I only hoped they would give him some kind of answer.

‘Oh really?’ Melissa didn’t sound convinced about my stress levels.

Understandably everyone was curious about how I’d been coping and desperate for gossip about how things were between Adrian and me. Some of them seemed disappointed to hear how well the nest-parenting arrangement was working—there was no excitement in success and good news.

‘Isn’t it weird living in a house with your ex-husband?’

It was the first time I didn’t flinch at the term ‘ex’, which definitely counted as progress. ‘We don’t live in the same house together—we take turns and there are strict rules we’re following.’

Obviously, I didn’t mention the mess I’d come home to, the beers on the bedside table or the major rule Adrian had broken when he’d had sex with someone else in our bed. Overall the nest arrangement was working better than I’d imagined.