Vanessa was basically dead inside, except when she was with Wren. A smile from him could make her day. A laugh like golden sunshine warming her face. What if her mom was right? What if it was better to fix the problem before Mark even knew about it?

In the end, Vanessa decided that she couldn’t just get rid of it, so she told Mark.

‘What the fuck do you mean you’re pregnant? How did this happen?’ Conveniently forgetting his part in her pregnancies seemed to be his go-to.

‘You should know. You asked me the same thing when I fell pregnant with Wren. You know exactly how it happened.’

‘You did this deliberately,’ he accused, his fists bunched at his sides.

She couldn’t believe that he was blaming her again. He’d forced himself on her. What did he think might happen?

‘You think I want another child with you?’ she said quietly, her voice pitched low, almost talking to herself.

He backhanded her.

‘Christ, Mark! Just stop it!’

He grabbed her by the front of her top, yanking her close to him, so close that his beer breath flowed over her face. ‘Don’t you tell me what to do. Ever.’

She thought he was going to hit her again, but instead he pushed her away and stormed out the back door and into the shed where she heard him banging around.

Two babies. She sighed and gently touched her stomach, making a promise to this baby that she’d protect him or her as much as she could, including against their dad.

Vanessa was at the grocery store with Wren when someone spoke behind her.

‘So, this is the little bastard.’

Vanessa turned, an unhappy and squirming one-year-old Wren draped over her shoulder and a red plastic basket looped over the other arm. Maggie was standing in front of her looking perfectly made up and tanned next to Vanessa’s scraggly, unkept and pale appearance. Vanessa hadn’t bothered to cover up the dark rings around her haunted eyes and the fading bruise visible across one cheek. She was wearing yesterday’s clothes.

‘Maggie,’ she said softly, taking her in. ‘You look good.’ And she really meant it.

‘Yeah, well, you look like shit.’ Maggie had always been honest with her.

‘Thanks,’ she whispered, a ghost of a smile on her face. She hefted Wren in her arms, juggling the basket, one corner poking in painfully under her breast. He thrashed his head around until his eyes eventually settled on Maggie. ‘I made my bed, Maggie. I hurt you and I’m taking responsibility for that, but you don’t get to call my son names.’ There was steel in her voice as she defended her baby.

‘I’m sorry. He just looks like you both… you and Mark.’ Maggie inspected Vanessa’s face carefully. It was clear she had noted the bruise. ‘Are you OK?’