That day in the hospital, Stacey cradled tiny Cameron and said to Anita, ‘If a huge monster lumbered in here right now and tried to hurt this baby, I reckon—even with my belly freshly cut open and stitched up—I reckon I could tear that monster apart with my bare hands.’ Then she laughed, surprised to hear herself express such a ferocious thought out loud.

A bit over two years ago. Between Christmas and New Year. Shortly before Remy’s sarcoma was diagnosed. Anita twisted around in the passenger seat of Paula’s car, watching Stacey through the back windscreen. As they drove away, Stace was standing in long grass, waving goodbye. Cameron, an eight-year-old by then, had planted himself beside his mother and six-year-old Poppy clung on to the seam of Stacey’s shorts.

Paula and Anita had driven up to Queensland together to stay a couple of nights on the remote property outside Maryvale where Matt was trying to make a go of cattle farming, despite having no agricultural experience. On the eleven-hour drive back to Sydney, the two women spent much of the time talking about Stacey, the troubling details they’d noticed, the way Matt’s black mood could suddenly change the air pressure in the room. They knew Stacey had put on a show of cheerfulness for her friends, and they still worried about how tired she looked, how weighed down. Then again, neither Anita nor Paula had kids. What did they know about the strains of motherhood, and life on a farm without mains power or town water? Maybe it was natural and understandable to look as exhausted as Stacey.

Still, after that visit, Paula and Anita were both on alert, trying to speak to Stacey once a week at least. But it was difficult, given she had no landline, internet or mobile reception on the property, and the stretches of time with no communication grew longer.

Anita often thought about one particular phone call: Stacey had used the landline at the preschool in Warwick. She’d started teaching there two days a week to bring in some off-farm income. It was a quick call—Stacey chatted about the kids, but she sounded preoccupied and then ended the call abruptly.

Two minutes later, Anita’s mobile rang again. It was Matt. He’d followed Stacey into town and appeared at the preschool to check on her. Now he wanted to know who Stacey had just been speaking to.

‘Oh—hi, Matt. This is Anita. Me and Stacey were just catching up—’

He cut in. ‘I love her more than she loves me. There’s an imbalance. She says that’s not true. But you know and I know it’s true.’

Before she could respond, he had slammed down the phone.