A combination of stewed rage and impotence battered her. She had no idea how long before the obsessive thoughts, the nightmares and the flashbacks would stop. Or when her hair-trigger responses to so many things would cease whipping her from fulminating anger to the depths of despair. How long before she could look at Nick without pain, loathing and misery and once again see the man she fell in love with at Bunga Arm? Did that man even exist anymore? And how long until Nick could look at her without shame, guilt and regret shining off him like a beacon?

Maybe it was impossible. Maybe their marriage had been in its death throes two years earlier, when Nick had turned away from her. Perhaps holding it all together was not only too hard, it was pointless. Was walking away easier than this half-life they were living?

Recently, Lucy had asked, “Mommy, why are you sleeping in this bed?”

The question had caught her off guard and she’d fought back the words, “Because your father’s hurt me in the worst possible way and I feel worthless and unlovable.” But it was her job to protect Lucy and Indi from the mess that was her and Nick.

“Daddy’s snoring keeps me awake.”

But going by the concerned phone call from Lucy’s teacher, her elder daughter was picking up on the anguished vibes in Burrunan and acting out in the classroom. Would it be better for the girls if she ended this agonizing impasse with a clean break?

Who was she kidding? She and Nick were forever connected by the girls. They had a lifetime of birthdays and Christmases, graduations, future weddings and grandchildren ahead of them. In the immediate future, they had years of school runs, dance recitals, swimming and soccer to juggle, not to mention a million shared parenting decisions. Their lives were inextricably joined and the only end to it was death.

As it was, it felt like part of her had already died.

Jess was working at the patisserie doing the accounts. Sitting in the back room and enjoying the spicy scents of baking and the aroma of good coffee was a welcome sanctuary from all the other parts of her life.

“Café et gateau, cherie.” Patrice put down a tray as she always did at 11:00.

Jess patted her belly, which was more rounded than it had been since her pregnancy. Not only was she comfort eating, her exercise routine of walking, running and surfing with Libby, had come to an abrupt stop. “Thanks, Patrice, but as amazing as it looks, I think I better pass on the cake.”

Patrice gave a Gallic shrug and returned to the kitchen.

It had been a rough few weeks but Patrice was one of a handful of people who only judged Jess by her ability as an accountant. Jess wondered if it was because the woman was French, but she hadn’t asked, because she wasn’t about to open herself up to unwanted comments. She got enough of those from the rest of the town.