MARTY STARED OUT OF THE WINDOW AT THE POLICE CARS PULLING away. Of course, the cameras were still there; they’d filmed the police arriving to search the house. Trial by media again. His thoughts switched to Elissa; she would have heard everything by now. If only he could talk to her; she’d help him make sense of this situation. Or stop his thoughts for a moment, help him step away from this nightmare and lose himself in her sunshine.

Water bottles. Lexie had always been fastidious about ensuring that Bella was never thirsty. She had about five water bottles constantly on the go. They were interchangeable—Dora the Explorer, the pink fairy one, the transparent purple one, a Mickey Mouse thing that she’d got at a birthday party and the green one with a straw that Bella had trouble flicking up and down. No dehydration for their daughter.

What did it mean? Bella must have been taken. By someone from the church … the reverend, a member of the clergy, a parishioner? He’d never been to that church, never heard of it. Marty had patients from all over Canberra—presumably some of them went there. How could he find out which ones?

A water bottle.

One shoe.

Where was the other?

Marty brought a cup of tea to Lexie, who was still motionless on the couch. His wife waved the mug away and muttered in a low voice, ‘I have to show you something.’

Without speaking, he followed Lexie down the hallway. The door to the study had been left wide open, exposing his wife’s secret. An overwhelming vision of baby blue. Marty drifted from shelf to shelf, touching a tiny jumper, the soft material of a sheepskin jacket, a silver rattle. He pushed a wooden toy car along the top of the bookcase. Photos, albums, Archie’s whole life encased in one room.

He knew she’d kept some of it when they moved but not all of this. She’d set it up as an exhibit, just like the ones she used to create at the museum. But instead of showcasing copper coins from 1815 or a traditional headdress, the room showcased their son. Had this display given her comfort? It made Marty feel even worse. He stepped in front of Lexie and cupped his hands around her cheeks, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

‘Why were you in this shrine instead of playing with our daughter?’

Lexie jerked away from him. Picking up a photo album, she held it against her chest, warding him off.

‘He was such a beautiful baby.’

Marty kicked at a soft striped soccer ball. A ball that Archie could never have played with.

‘You do understand that Archie was not going to get better.’

‘Yes … no,’ she whimpered. ‘He might have been the miracle baby.’

‘There are no miracles, Lexie.’ Marty gritted his teeth. ‘Only misdiagnoses.’

‘Maybe he could have been the misdiagnosed miracle.’