Paula wasn’t naive. However strong the urge to swoop in and wrap that woman in a protective force field, this had to be handled cautiously. The risk was clear, and instruments like apprehended violence orders had their limits. An AVO wasn’t a magic spell that kept all danger away. But still, but still, she would find a workable solution for Rochelle Ferguson.

For the rest of the day, whenever there was a gap between patients, and then at home in the evening, Paula conducted her research, tackling the problem methodically, compiling a list of refuges, welfare agencies, private companies that advertised their ability to help someone disappear. She discussed the situation with a smart woman at a refuge interstate (possibly a safer option) and put in a call to a police sergeant who’d offered helpful advice a couple of years ago. In all her enquiries, she took care not to let slip any identifying details, just in case.

The emotional burn about Stacey was fuelling this—in part, at least. Paula was conscious of that, which was why she made an extra effort to check herself against the steps any responsible GP would take. Rochelle was like a prisoner wearing an electronic ankle bracelet, her range of movement restricted by the realistic fear her husband would kill her or her child. Any doctor would work hard to find an escape route for that woman.

Paula had looked after people for whom there’d been no true solution. On that list was Andy—one of her favourite patients, even if it was inappropriate to have favourites—who’d been diagnosed with motor neurone disease three years ago. There was the super-chatty woman who’d wanted a baby so fervently but, after throwing IVF, multiple surgical procedures, hypnotherapy and money at the problem, had been forced to give up.

And Paula had been sitting next to Remy when the specialist told him they’d exhausted every treatment. She’d peppered the oncologist with questions, mentioned a new drug trial cited in an online journal, asked for tests to be run again. But Remy had put his hand on her arm, without needing to say anything aloud. Stop now. There’s no way to fix this.

After that day, Paula had shifted tactics, throwing her energy into researching the most effective drug combinations for end-stage pain and the best ways to manage the dying process. She was pretty sure this had made things easier for Remy towards the end. He had said so, anyway. But it never felt like a solution to the problem they faced.