Tiny legs of insects were scampering over my forearms, my shoulders, my throat. I addressed my questions to her, and he answered them. Again. Different questions. Same result. The familiarity of it, the recognition of something I had always known – in the quieter places of my mind – I would one day have to confront. By the time I had asked all my questions I had no doubt that she was being coerced. He was forcing her into this, so that he would have control of their unborn child. I watched her while he talked, and I thought I saw her cringe. She was silently begging me to make this stop.

What had I done?

What could I do?

I searched her face, her bare arms – she was still sitting neatly in the corner – for undeniable signs of abuse, for something tangible that I could use.

She remained passive, and he continued to talk.

Eventually I got up to leave. I gave her my card, and I asked her to phone even though I knew she wouldn’t. I felt helpless. And yet there was something he wanted from me that I could choose not to give. I controlled the pouch. I decided who was allowed to use it. That is what I told myself.

But I remember walking back down the path, away from their house. I was still afraid to step on that manicured grass.

I made sure they would not be given a pouch, but I soon realised that was not enough. Having provided the world with the means for such manipulation, I held myself responsible for it. I went to see Sylvia, to tell her what I had witnessed, to tell her I believed we had to stop. More people were applying for the pouch every day, and we couldn’t possibly monitor them all. Looking back, I don’t think FullLife had any intention of doing so.

Sylvia smiled. It wasn’t my choice to bring her in as director, to let her make the decisions, but someone had to run FullLife and I didn’t want to – I was a scientist. I was just a scientist. Even so, I expected her to listen to me.

I was not so naive as I sound, but my worries about FullLife had been pushed to that same, quiet place in my mind. I didn’t want to think about worst-case scenarios. But that had to stop. They became the only thing I could think about.

I told her that a man, whom I had just met, was using the baby pouch to increase the power he had over his wife.

I told her that she didn’t want to use the pouch at all, that it was his idea – that he was stealing from her and she would be left with nothing.

I told her that I could see she was afraid.