At the beginning, Phoebe had liked Marty, although she’d always thought he was too old for me. But she saw his kindness, his compassion, his care for his tiny patients—and, above all, his love for me, how happy he made me. In those days, with Marty by my side, I felt I could do anything, go anywhere, follow my dreams to the end of the earth. He supported me, he encouraged me, he believed in me. I’d never had a boyfriend like that before. With other boyfriends, we’d been two people travelling along parallel tracks—going in the same direction, but not together. The lecturer I’d dated was so focused on his own ambition that he had no space for mine. The author needed my constant reassurance about his work and expected me to organise my life around his writing hours. But Marty was different. It wasn’t only that he was older and further along in his career; he wanted me to be fulfilled, reach my goals, and I wanted the same for him.

In those days, we were always talking. Imagining where we’d live, the children we’d have, the lives we’d lead. A bright, happy future together. We both wanted a simple life for our children. A cosy house, not too fancy—a place where kids could make a mess. Our home would be filled with friends and family: dinner parties, kids’ birthday parties for the whole class, Christmas gatherings—any excuse to bring people together.

I’d slumped into the couch in the family room, ignoring Phoebe on the screen, absorbing the emptiness of all the rooms in this vast new house. A child asleep upstairs. A husband at work. Rooms that remained spotless because no-one entered them.

Phoebe broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry, Lex, I didn’t mean to be a bitch. You know I only want the best for you.’

I sighed. ‘I know. And I only want the best for you too. You deserve a gorgeous man all to yourself.’

How could my gung-ho feminist sister end up being the other woman? She should have a man who loved her—and her alone—for her feistiness, her fun and her wit.

‘There’s one other thing that will make you like him even less,’ she confessed. ‘I probably shouldn’t even tell you.’

‘He’s got kids, hasn’t he?’ I guessed. Poor things.

She smiled sadly. ‘I think I’m in love.’

Her lovesick face reminded me of Marty on our wedding day. The same day I’d promised Mum that I would always look after my little sister.

‘I worry for you, Pheebs. Just don’t leave it too late, if you want what I’ve got.’