I rose early on Wednesday morning, pleased to see my period had arrived. It confirmed I wasn’t pregnant although I doubted I would have been anyway. I was sure my attacker had used protection to ensure evidence hadn’t been left behind. I took an intermittent jog to the boxing club around eight o’clock. The sky was a threatening grey and fog lingered low to the ground. The rape alarm would be delivered this week, then I could carry it with me. I knew I would feel safer.

When I arrived at the gym, there were no cars outside. I was alone. Jason had given me the key code to open the thick metal door. Inside, it was pitch-black and I panicked, sliding my hand over the wall to find the lights. My heart jumped into my mouth as I fumbled around. Where was the damn switch? Finally, I made contact with the plastic panel and the fluorescent strips flickered, then powered on. Their intensity stinging my eyes. The silence was eerie, such a big open space with only me inside. Every sound I made echoed.

Trying to ignore the feeling I wasn’t alone, I skipped for a minute or so as fast as I could, listening to the rope smack the mat over and over again. Blood pumped around my body and I put on the gloves Jason had loaned me. They were difficult to fasten by yourself. I danced around the bag, imagining his face every time I struck it. Punching until my knuckles were tender. My shoulders and arms were already looking defined and I was lifting more than when I started. I was stronger and more capable than ever. Grateful to Ben for introducing me to this outlet and Jason for being my unofficial trainer.

When I finished my workout, I left the club the same way I found it as no one else had arrived. Despite being sweaty, I detoured past the sports shop on the high street and purchased a new pair of running trainers. They set me back over a hundred pounds, but I was pleased. They were an investment and it was good to learn my credit card was still working.

When I got home, Ben had left the post on the kitchen table. No demand letters thankfully, but my redundancy offer was there, along with another bearing the NHS logo, which was most likely my psychiatrist’s appointment. I tore open the letter from work, hoping to find a sum that would solve all my problems. My heart sank at the figure, it was only just enough to cover my debts. They’d offered me £3,956 and that included an enhanced figure of £2000 because it was voluntary. I could argue for more, but it was unlikely I’d get anywhere.

I typed a text to Debbie.