She pulled it off and scrunched it up in her hand, then walked up the side of Monica’s house to the back door. She took the spare key from under a peace lily pot plant and crept inside.

The sound of the news coverage came from the TV in the lounge, abuzz and ablaze with commentary on Madison’s latest video and the discovery of Bree Wilkins’ body.

Monica would be the one watching it, for any news of Tom, but she wouldn’t have let her daughter watch it with her. So Eliza slowly walked up the stairs, to Wren’s room.

It was the perfect little girl’s room: princess wallpaper and a four-poster bed. Wren lay on glittery pink carpet in a little red dress, playing on her iPad.

Her face brightened when she saw Eliza. ‘Aunt Leesy!’ She threw herself into Eliza’s arms.

Eliza’s resolve wavered. She tightened her grip on the permission slip. I can do whatever it takes.

She began to cry: real tears, not fake ones, for the first time in a long time.

‘Aunt Leesy? It’s okay.’ Wren put her hand on Eliza’s cheek.

Eliza shoved the permission slip into her pocket and took hold of Wren’s little forearm with both hands.

Eliza felt sick. She was shaking.

But she had to do this.

Eliza smiled through her tears and snapped Wren’s little forearm – both radius and ulna.

Instant agony. Wren screamed, and screamed and screamed.

Pounding footsteps up the stairs and Monica appeared at the door, cheeks puffy, terror in her red face. ‘Wren!’ she shrieked.

Sarge raced up behind her, the big dog adding his booming barks to the mix.

‘I’m sorry, I snuck in to see her, and she wanted to show me a trick on her bed – she’s broken her arm!’ shouted Eliza.

‘Wren!’

‘Quick, Monica – take my car, get to the hospital, call an ambulance to meet you on the way. Now! Hurry!’

Eliza knew how to respond to children feeling strong emotion – short instructions, direct tone of voice – and Monica, already exhausted from Tom’s arrest, was in shock, fearing for her child, in pain. She did exactly as Eliza said without question.

Eliza helped Monica carry Wren, intentionally jostling the little girl’s arm. She fainted, overwhelmed by the pain.

She helped Monica strap Wren’s limp body into the back seat, then Monica was driving away and Eliza was alone, save for Sarge barking at her.

She dragged the dog through the house by the collar and locked him outside. His booming barks and whimpers could be heard all through the house.