Paula took a breath to steady herself and gauge how she was feeling as she described Ian Ferguson’s death to Anita, but excluding the part about injecting a lethal quantity of adrenaline. Only hours before, she had been determined to reveal every detail, but between sending Anita the text and arriving at the restaurant, Paula’s thinking had shifted. There was no confession of guilt. Instead, she went on to tell Anita about something that had happened forty minutes ago.

Paula had been about to leave the surgery when Jemma stopped her as she passed the front desk.

‘Oh, you’re off,’ Jemma said, then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I was hoping you could fit in one more patient before you go.’ The receptionist flicked her head in the direction of the play area.

Rochelle Ferguson was crouched down by the toy table, helping Brody pack away pieces of a plastic construction set. Paula couldn’t breathe. She had killed this woman’s husband, this child’s father.

Then Paula saw Rochelle stand upright, facing Brody. She was smiling—lightly, playfully. The two of them, mother and son, were laughing about who could throw the bright plastic pieces into the box with the most accuracy. Every time Brody successfully landed a piece in the box with a satisfying plonking sound, he did a gleeful wriggle. Rochelle would make a huge fuss, as if he were a sporting star who’d scored a goal.

Observing Brody in the play area now, Paula hardly recognised the anxious, clingy little boy he’d been. This child was sparky, happy, enchanting.

And when Rochelle turned towards her son, Paula saw the delight on her face and the ease in her body, as if the armour she’d kept strapped around herself for years had melted off.

Paula felt a wave of—maybe it wasn’t like the euphoric rush from an opioid drug, but a lovely warmth spread through her limbs and she was able to breathe deeply again.

‘Hi, Rochelle,’ she said.

‘Oh hi, Dr Kaczmarek.’

‘Am I seeing you or Brody this afternoon?’

Rochelle glanced at the bags in Paula’s hands. ‘Were you about to go home?’

‘Well, going out to meet a friend,’ said Paula. ‘But I can definitely fit you in.’

Rochelle squatted down next to Brody. ‘Okay if I see the doc and you hang out here for a minute?’

Brody nodded. He was happy to keep practising his throwing skills. He was happy to let his mum out of his sight for a little while.

Paula ushered Rochelle into the consulting room.

‘I’m so sorry about your husband,’ Paula said.

Rochelle looked at the floor, pressing her lips together. ‘Well, I don’t reckon I have to pretend to be super upset with you, doctor.’

‘No, you don’t.’