In the kitchen, she stopped and stared, slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, her eyes fixed on the large, open window as if a spotlight were shining upon it. Someone had opened it wide. They’d climbed through the gap. It was the only thing that made any sense, the only logical explanation.

How hadn’t she heard? Was she that tired? She’d only taken the one sleeping tablet. Oh no, what was she thinking? She shouldn’t have taken anything at all.

Megan stood, statue-like, her mind still racing as she searched for an explanation that made any sense at all. Oh, shit, it was Dale. It had to be Dale. He must have returned after the police left. Or he could have hidden. Maybe he’d hidden. Perhaps he’d waited, bided his time. The bastard, the absolute bastard! He’d broken in. He’d actually broken in.

Megan pictured her drunken ex scrambling through the open window in the semi-darkness of the night. She pictured him ascending the stairs, one cautious step at a time, and then lifting Lottie from the bed while she slept sedated next to her.

How dare he? He’d gone too far this time. What the hell was the idiot thinking? Was he really that irresponsible?

Megan reached out, picking up her smartphone from where it was charging. She rung Dale’s number, cursing loudly and crudely when she didn’t receive a reply. She rang twice more but with the same negative results. Megan briefly considered leaving a message, something that left her ex in no doubt as to her extreme displeasure.

But no, it made more sense to drive straight to his recently rented home. To bang on the door and keep banging until he answered. See how he liked that, some of his own medicine when nursing a hangover. It was time to pull on some clothes and get out of there just as quickly as she possibly could. Should she ring her mum? No, no, that could wait. Mum wasn’t getting any younger. She needed her sleep. There was little point in worrying her even more than she already had. Now, where were those car keys?

Megan rushed from the kitchen and towards the stairs, spotting the bunch of keys on the dark, wooden hallstand next to the front door. Her mind was still racing as she climbed each step. The behavioural effects of the alcohol would have worn off by now. Lottie should be okay. She was safe.

Yes, Lottie was with her dad. The sober dad, the sensible dad, the dad she’d known before the strong drink gradually sunk in its claws, taking hold and ruining everything they had one painful day at a time.

As Megan picked up a pair of faded blue jeans, her mind leapt, one thought after another tumbling in her head, in search of reassurance, cathartic, a self-therapy of sorts.

Dale was immature and reckless, but he wasn’t a bad person, not deep down where it really mattered. He wasn’t one of the truly evil bastards she sometimes encountered in her legal role: the haters, the destructive, self-obsessed men who felt no concern for anyone but themselves. Dale had a conscience. He wasn’t entirely devoid of goodness. He’d never hurt Lottie, not intentionally and certainly not physically. No, no, of course he wouldn’t. He’d always loved their daughter in his way. And he’d be wide awake by now – suffering, wracked with guilt, full of heartfelt regrets.