He looked to the ground. ‘I was afraid we were over. I was lonely. Flattered. Stupid. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’

I sniffed.

‘I know what you’re thinking. It can’t just happen by accident. But … I didn’t plan it, Rachel. That might sound like a weak excuse, or no excuse at all, but it’s the truth.’

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘That’s unimportant. It was a mistake,’ he said, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, shaking his head. ‘Does it make it hurt less if I tell you it was just some woman I met in a bar after work? In Belfast.

‘I was stressed. I went for a drink and we got chatting. And I felt flattered, Rachel. Wanted, even. I gave in to that. We went back to her place. It was quick, and messy, and it felt wrong. Sordid. The scratches made it more so.’ He looked down, rubbed the stubble of his chin. ‘Everything about it was a mistake. I wish, with everything in me, that I hadn’t done it. And I know you might not believe me, but it was just once, and I’ve barely been able to look myself in the mirror since.

‘Why do you think I’ve been so short-tempered? I’m so sorry and I’m so ashamed. I don’t want to lose you, or the girls. Even if what we’ve got is broken, it’s still what we’ve got, isn’t it? But what you told the police, about the scratches, that you thought for even one minute I could do something so utterly horrific to our friend …? It’s all just a bloody mess, Rachel. And I want to fix it. I want us to fix it. Despite everything, I still think we can.’

I heard him say the words I wished he’d said weeks ago. Or months ago. That he didn’t want to lose me. Or us. That he wanted to fix us. I heard him say those words I’d wished he’d say for a long time. But he’d prefaced them with ‘It was a mistake’ and ‘it was just the once’. And even though I’d known in my heart that there’d been someone else, and even though I was in no position to judge, I started to cry anyway. And my crying soon turned into sobbing.

I felt his arms around me, holding me tight, trying to comfort me, reminding me the girls were next door. I heard him say he was sorry over and over again.

‘As soon as I’d done it, I knew I’d messed up,’ he said. ‘I hate myself for it. You couldn’t hate me more than I hate myself.’