I wasn’t just a good partner to Daniel, I was a great one. I’d always do my best to make him things he liked or buy him little presents, just to show I was thinking of him, but all just in the most normal way, not in an over-the-top way. I suppose the fact that it was so subtle sometimes might be why it so often went unnoticed.

I would always go all-out to make his birthday special and I’d plan his Christmas presents months in advance. Naturally, I treated our wedding and our honeymoon with the same care and attention. I wanted to make it absolutely amazing for him. I wanted to take every little fantasy I’d ever played out in my fiction, and every hint of what he might like from his words, to come up with something truly special.

Look at where all that hard work has got me. Seriously, if there were ever an argument for doing the bare bloody minimum, my situation right now would be it.

The reason this is on my mind right now doesn’t have as much to do with Daniel’s lack of gratitude as you might think. It has more to do with the fact that, in an attempt to make this honeymoon truly magical, I did everything I could to make sure that it would be perfect, and now I’m facing having to go through it all on my own.

A tall, good-looking man boards the plane and sits down in the seat next to me – the seat that was supposed to be for Daniel. I did tell the airport staff that Daniel wouldn’t be flying, and they said something about it freeing up the seat for the waitlist. At least someone gets to sit in it, I suppose.

‘Ciao,’ the man says as he sits down next to me.

He looks a little bit like a younger Joe Manganiello, but without the beard.

‘Hello,’ I reply.

It’s like something out of a rom-com: a heartbroken woman who has fled the scene of her wedding, only for a handsome stranger to wind up sitting on the plane next to her. If there was any justice in the world, we’d fall madly in love somewhere over the Channel.

Once we are up in the air, things get a little awkward when an air hostess brings us two glasses of champagne.

‘Here we are,’ she says. ‘You two let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?’

You can somehow just detect that she is talking to us as if she thinks we are together.

‘Oh, we’re not together,’ I insist quickly.

‘Okay,’ the air hostess replies, baffled. ‘Well, I will still assist you both, if either of you needs anything.’

Perhaps she wasn’t talking to us as if we were a couple at all, and I wonder why I got so defensive.

‘You don’t want her to think I am your boyfriend?’ the man asks with a chuckle. He has a strong Italian accent, but his English is perfect.