‘Michelle, I have had the worst few weeks. Weeks that included me making a big mistake.’ She looks away for a second, then back at me. ‘Weeks in which I met a woman who is so broken, so interminably broken, and yet through my stubbornness, or delusion, or something, I don’t know what, I thought she could help me. Perhaps even turn time back on itself. Get a better outcome this time.’ Michelle shifts her head to one side. ‘Find peace with David through saving her. Then it unravelled even further, to something I could never have anticipated. And somehow I’ve just spent all day driving up to the Lake District and back with the ridiculous notion that that was in all our best interests.’ I pause to take a breath. ‘And do you want to know what I learned? I learned that the only person’s life I can sort out is my own. The only life I have any control over is the one I lead, through the choices I make and the relationships I keep.’ I look down at her hands, reaching out to place my hand on hers. ‘You are…’ I try to find the right words to describe her. ‘You are smart and funny and beautiful and I have never met anyone like you, who makes me feel like you do, and I probably never will again.’ Her eyes are full with tears and I have to stop myself wiping them away as she blinks and they tumble down her face. I can feel the pain she feels but I have to do this anyway. ‘But you are who you are, and that means I have to walk away.’

She gives a shallow nod. ‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘I know.’ She forces a smile, then pulls her hand from mine and disappears into the back room.

I stare at the space where she was just standing, the emptiness now loud and uncomfortable. I want to shout her back. Instead, I growl into the bar, because although I know I’ve done the right thing, it feels like the biggest mistake of my life. I knock back my pint, letting the bitterness wash away the soreness in the back of my throat. I replay the conversation with James, with the police, and each visit I’ve ever had with Susan, over and over in my mind. Trying to pick out anything I might have missed amongst my self-serving need to get involved.

And then I realise something. Something I didn’t see because I’ve been consumed with finding Susan and working out if she really is who I think she is.

James.

Why would someone write a final letter to someone from their past if that person hadn’t played a significant role in it?

If that person wasn’t…

Shit! How did I miss that? Is James the father of Susan’s baby? Is James…? I down the rest of my pint and grab my keys, wallet and phone to head back over to the police station. As I head out the door into the car park, my phone rings. ‘Rhys, it’s James. I’m in Sheffield, coming down Abbeydale Road. Where are you?’