While Mark no longer sought Maggie out, Vanessa knew that he still loved her. She felt Maggie’s absence from her life keenly, alone and about to have a baby, married to a man whose heart belonged to another. Vanessa and Mark may have slept in the same bed, but he hadn’t touched her since that first time. One night during the early hours of the morning, she woke to the bed jerking slightly, the small bedside lamp was switched on, illuminating the room. Mark sat on the edge of the bed. She carefully looked over his shoulder and saw that he was masturbating while holding a Polaroid photo of Maggie, completely naked. Shocked and disgusted, she lay back down and rolled over to face the wall. The bed still moved beneath her. She didn’t say a word. Not then anyway.

Vanessa was cold to him over the next few days after the incident. He was married, and, for better or worse, she was his wife now. He wasn’t allowed to jack off to his ex-girlfriend’s picture. So she took the picture from his underwear draw and cut it into tiny pieces, watching Maggie disappear, piece by jagged piece.

He came storming into the kitchen later that night while she was making dinner. ‘Where is it?’ he demanded, red cheeks hinting at the extent of his rage.

Vanessa turned, her bulging stomach making her slow and awkward. ‘Where’s what?’ she asked, eyes narrowing in anger.

‘Don’t play dumb, Vanessa. The photo. The photo of Maggie.’

‘You mean the photo you jack off to? I cut it up and flushed it down the toilet. Guess you’re going to have to use your imagination from now on, or shock horror, think about your wife instead.’

His eyes narrowed, and in hindsight she should have stopped there. ‘Why do you even have that? You cheated on her. You threw her away. Why act all lovesick now that it’s too late?’

He snarled. ‘Maybe because I’m married to a fucking bitch.’

She was shocked. He’d never spoken to her like that before.

Two weeks after they moved into their house Mark got a job at a bar and began staying out later and later, sometimes not even bothering to call to let her know that he was safe or when he was coming home. Vanessa had her suspicions but no proof as to what he was really up to. She was about ready to drop the baby, her stomach taunt and uncomfortable, the skin stretched tighter than a drum. She was in a large grocery store in the next town over one day when she heard the rumble of a low voice and the shrill, high-pitched giggle that she’d know anywhere.

Maggie.