Downstairs was littered with broken glass. A chair had been pushed over. I tidied it all up while Carson sat in his high chair, playing with slices of kiwi fruit. There was no sign of either parent, though I could feel they were in the house, their leaden presence. I had no idea what to do, so I just kept on with my chores. Feed the baby, change him. Wipe the counters, throw away the broken things. I nicked my finger on a shard of glass and held it to my mouth, filled with the metallic taste of my own blood. I must have left some on the cupboard door, where it was later found. But they read it wrong, came up with the wrong story.

As the clock inched to eight I knew I should wake Madison for school, but she’d hardly slept at all, so I called them and told them she was sick. That recording would later be played in court, seen as further proof of my guilt. I waited. Now, when I think of those few hours of morning calm, my stomach churning with unease, I would give everything to go back, to wake Madison, take Carson from his chair, pile them both into the car and drive far, far away, not stop until they were safe. But I didn’t.

Abby came downstairs around half ten. She looked terrible, her face stretched and swollen with crying, hair ratty and greasy. I felt bad about that for a long time after, how she would have hated being brought in dead like that, having her picture taken with dirty hair and no make-up, no false nails or eyelashes.

‘I suppose you heard all that last night?’ she said to me.

I was standing with a dishcloth in my hand. ‘Um . . . the kids were up, yeah.’

‘He wants a divorce. Well, he’s not getting one. Unless he wants to give me everything.’

I said nothing. Her eyes landed on me, dark and sharp.

‘You know, it gets put in the court documents, Casey. The co-respondent, they call it. The person he cheated with. Means I get it all. House, kids, the lot.’

I couldn’t think what to say. It wasn’t true – no one would believe her, would they? I was keeping very still, as if a predator was in the room with me. I had to get the kids out of there, and I was thinking of ways to take them on a day trip or something, just take them away. Then the terrace door slammed and David appeared. He had slept out by the pool, clearly, clothes rumpled and breath sour.

‘Don’t talk to her,’ he said to Abby, his tone poisonous.

‘Why not? She’s a part of this, isn’t she? I’ll be telling the court as much.’

‘You stupid bitch. What court would give you anything? You’re crazy.’