Locked in Monica’s bathroom, her mind was back there, now. That first day, the winter of two years ago. Their oldest sister, Kiera, had shown up at Eliza’s house in one of her rare moments of sobriety. She’d had Denni in tow and begged Eliza to take care of her daughter. Kiera loved Denni, but she knew she was a bad mother to her – it was because she loved her that she wanted Eliza to raise her. Denni had stomped past Eliza and into the spare room, which in time would become her room, swearing and screaming at Kiera.

Eliza couldn’t refuse. Poor Kiera had suffered the most from their parents’ neglect and abuse. She was a bad mother. And Eliza . . . to be a mother was all she’d ever wanted.

She spent the time with Denni. Slowly, gently, calming her. Comforting her. Listening to her, validating her, giving her permission to be strong, to be kind, to be present. Eliza read all the books, wanting to learn all the ways a daughter should be treated in order to grow up strong. Something that Eliza and Monica and Kiera’s parents had never been able to do. But Eliza and Monica had always had each other, while Kiera had borne the full brunt.

Kiera. Now she was somewhere on the mainland, shacked up with a drug dealer, numb and oblivious to the world outside her own addiction, trying to bury the pain of her daughter’s suicide. It’d been months since Eliza had heard from her, although that wasn’t unusual. She and Monica had both resigned themselves to the fact it was only a matter of time before they got a call, from the cops or a hospital, saying Kiera was dead.

But back in the memory, months after Denni’s arrival, the edgy and rebellious but only half-healed teenager had begun reeling in Tom. Little comments and touches and looks full of meaning. And Tom, horny and hungry as always, had responded.

Eliza had tried everything to make Denni stop, to make Tom stop, but nothing had worked – reasoning, threatening to report Tom to the school, bribing Denni with gifts. Once she’d given her the ultimatum that, if they didn’t stop, Eliza would move the two of them to another town entirely. That hadn’t worked – Denni just said she’d move in with Tom and Monica instead.

Monica . . . sweet, infatuated Monica, with all of her own childhood trauma and fear of abandonment, had never stood up to Tom. Even now, Eliza could hardly bring herself to look at him, even though they shared a house. He was big, strong – scary when angry. He was a man’s man, in a man’s world, in a country town where men were still the ruling class.