Danny shifted. The light in the bathroom had cut out at his lack of movement. He moved instinctively to switch it back on. His movement turned him so he was facing the mirror. The bright light seemed focused on his face and he was forced to take in his own reflection. His skin had a washed-out pallor with a pattern of red veins. The bags under his eyes hung heavier and darker than ever over skin that had developed a rash from his first shave in a while that morning. His hair was roughed up where he had been constantly pushing it around in his stress. He was still wearing a tie from his meeting; the knot was tight and low where he had pulled it away from his neck. He barely recognised the man staring back at him. He just wanted this to be over.

‘I can’t.’ His voice was weak, barely a croak, and he watched his grimace in the mirror. He wanted to sound strong, to have conviction, to not sound like he felt: empty, beaten. Like he had nothing left. ‘The other night was different. I didn’t know where I was going, I got there and there was a lot of stuff that just swept me up, got me all riled. I did what I did in the heat of the moment. But this … this feels like cold blood. Like driving somewhere knowing I’m going there to kill someone. That ain’t me,’ Danny said.

‘Then don’t. But take a moment to think about what you are, what you want to be. A husband to Sharon, a father to Jamie and Callie. That means being there for them, being there when Jamie captains his football team to follow in his dad’s footsteps, being there when Callie wakes up; she is never going to need you more. And being there for Sharon. She’s a strong woman but she can’t do this on her own. Not this time.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ But he did, Danny could see that now; of course he had taken his time to find out what he could about his family. That could only be for one reason.