Her heart leaped into her mouth not certain if this call was good news or bad. Three weeks earlier, after spending hours crafting a submission, she’d been interviewed by a panel led by Flis.

“Hi.” It came out as a squeak.

“Alice, the arts council is excited to offer you this year’s position of artist in residence.”

Yes! “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. Your submission was very professional and we love your idea for a mural. There’ll be an official announcement next month with drinks, but meanwhile I’ll email your contract. If you can sign it and get it back to me by the end of next week, that would be fantastic. Congratulations again, Alice. Talk soon.”

Artist in residence! Alice hugged herself. Could this day get any better?

She crossed the road and walked into the gynecologist’s rooms for her long overdue follow-up appointment. Alice took a seat in the waiting room and bypassed the magazines, preferring to read a copy of the Bairnsdale Advertiser. As she read the articles, she thought her writing for the Gazette held up against that of the professional journalists. She was skimming the social pages when her eyes landed on a photo. Suddenly she was looking straight at Tim. He had one arm slung casually across an attractive woman’s shoulder and the other resting across the top of the heads of two young boys. Tim’s sister and his nephews.

Her gaze drifted to the caption. “Tim Classen, his wife Sasha and their children Joel and Rufus enjoying all the fun of the elementary school spring fair.”

Her skin caught on fire. Her lunch lurched in her stomach. No! No! No! She swallowed and closed her eyes. She’d misread the words is all. They really said, “Tim Classen, his sister Sasha and his nephews Joel and Rufus enjoying all the fun of the elementary school spring fair.”

She opened her eyes and the print shot into focus. Not a single word had changed. This was Tim with his wife and sons.

“You bastard!”

The receptionist’s head jerked up. “I beg your pardon.”

Alice wanted to shred the paper, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t get her fingers to work. “Why are men such cheating, lying bastards?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” The woman poured Alice a glass of water from the cooler and handed it to her. “Read something that triggered you?”

I’ve been sexting with a married man! But no way was she admitting that to a stranger so she covered. “I just get so angry when I read stuff like that article about the bloke who conned that woman out of her savings.” Alice felt a kindred connection to the duped woman. Not that Tim was after her money, but she had trusted him implicitly. She’d shared her deepest thoughts and feelings with him. Felt and believed their friendship was real.