The bald words lanced her and the empty spaces inside her, created by months of desperate loneliness, throbbed with a dull ache. Still mired in the fallout of the apocalypse, there were only two things she was certain about—Jess was dead to her and she missed the man she’d always believed her husband to be. Her love for Nick still had more moments of intense fury than it had of forgiveness. It was these volcanic emotions that kept her sleeping in the guest room.

“Is this about us not having sex?”

“No,” Nick said, far too defensively, and she snorted.

“Maybe. A bit, but as you still flinch when I kiss you, we’re not ready for sex. This is more about you being lily white and above reproach while I’m stuck in the muck being blamed for everything that’s wrong between us. You’re too angry to give an inch and I’m sick of being the only bad guy—bad person in this relationship when it’s not strictly true.” He rubbed his face. “How long are you going to be angry for, Libs?”

Tears stung her eyes—she hated the anger almost as much as she needed it. “I don’t know.”

“I love you, tesoro mio, but our marriage is like sailing through a never-ending storm. I’m stuck in the troughs with the constant threat of being rolled by massive waves. I don’t know how much longer I can stick it out.”

Something her mother had said tonight forced its way into her head. Does Nick have a point? Had she been nursing her anger and pain for so long it was now her default position no matter what? Hurt him so he didn’t hurt her again?

“Libs,” he pleaded. “We need better help than those bloody books.”

“But we’ve tried three counselors. All of them have been clueless. The last one straight out goggled at us when we told him.”

“Yeah.” Nick pulled out his phone and handed it to her open on a web page. “I found this. It’s a workshop in Melbourne. I dunno if the reviews are fake or not, but it’s a combination of individual, couple and group therapy. It comes with ongoing support.”

She read the blurb, cringing at the idea of sharing their messy story with strangers. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because even at the best of times you hate discussing your feelings, let alone admitting what you’ve done in front of people we don’t know.”

He laughed, the sound harsh and unsettling. “Half the town knows what I’ve done to the people I love and respect. Telling a group of strangers whose marriages are floundering and who might just understand what we’re going through will be a walk in the park. Telling anyone is easy compared with telling you.”