Last night, before I’d crawled in with Marty, I’d lain in Bella’s bed, clasping her Lulu to my heart. As a two-year-old, Bella would suck on Lulu’s nose. Wherever Bella was, she’d be desperate for Lulu. Propped on the bed with Lulu now sat Dora the Explorer, watching over Bella’s toys. I’d decided to bring the doll home with me from playgroup; Dora had looked so lost in that room full of police.

I surveyed the bedroom—the bright babushka pictures hanging against the white walls, the doll’s house in one corner, a collection of china fairies carefully positioned on a shelf, Hairy Maclary and a Dr Seuss set in the bookcase. Without a child in it, another shrine.

Mel sat us down on the bed, her arm still around me.

‘I need to tell you something, Lexie.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s going to be a story about you on the Weekend Wrap tonight.’

So many journalists had tried to contact us that I’d forgotten about the Weekend Wrap. There had been a message via the hospital, asking if we would participate in the program. Superintendent Milson had advised against doing exclusive interviews but encouraged us to speak at the police media conferences. As if we wanted to do any of it.

‘I don’t want to watch it,’ I told Mel.

‘I think you should see this one,’ she said gently. ‘That’s why I’ve come over—to sit with you. Someone from playgroup is on it.’

In the lounge room, Mel switched on the television. The screen showed photos of Bella at playgroup—with the yellow digger in the sandpit, wearing the wizard hat in the cubbyhouse. She looked so happy, so alive.

The reporter began with Archie’s death and there was Yvette again, that paediatric physio. At the time, she’d been a godsend, helping me with Archie, caring for him like I did. Now I wished I’d never met her.

‘Lexie told me she couldn’t cope,’ Yvette was saying, repeating the words I’d heard so many times. ‘She said: “I can’t cope with Archie and a newborn. I just can’t cope.”’

Every mother feels overwhelmed sometimes. It didn’t mean that I wanted him to die!

When the playgroup mum finally appeared, her face was in darkness and her voice distorted. This was someone I had trusted with my daughter that morning. Torn, one part of me wanted to run from the TV; the other part wanted to know who it was.

‘Why have you requested to remain anonymous?’ the reporter asked.

‘Merrigang is a tiny village,’ the mum replied. ‘I don’t want to cause rifts and lose friendships. Also, I heard what Marty did to that teacher …’

Squeezing my hands together, I prayed to the TV. Please don’t make us look bad. Please don’t stop everyone searching for Bella.