The conch shell rests on the side of the bath. Heavy and curved, with delicate white edges and a polished interior, it sits just as it has since Gregor bought it from the gift shop in the seaside town where he first met Constance. Until this moment, the shell has always been an ornament, something to look at.

This should not be happening. They had expected him to be gone the entire night, and the next day too. She eyes the conch shell as she crouches behind the door, an idea forming in the split second before his footsteps slow to a stop outside the room.

“Are you in there?”

She doesn’t answer. Silently, she slips her hand inside the shell. It is cool and smooth, hard and heavy as a rock. The weight of it, hugged to her belly, comforts her.

There is a soft whimper from the bundle of towels under the sink, and she reaches to stroke the child, to quiet her. It won’t be long. Only a few seconds more. Then it will all be over.

He speaks through the door. “Leonie? It’s Daddy. Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m coming in. Don’t be scared, okay? There’s going to be a big bang.”

But before he can charge at the door, she unlocks it. The sound of the bolt being drawn makes him pause. He waits, perhaps to see if she’ll come out. For a while nothing happens. Then, he opens the door and steps inside.

The shell flies through the air, her hand inside it, a deadly knuckle-duster, connecting with the man’s skull with such force that the shell is cracked. The man is felled; he drops quickly, though to her it seems in slow motion, a building demolished by dynamite. In the silence that follows, she turns to check that Leonie didn’t see anything. The bundle of towels is shaking, but it’s still intact. She lets go of the shell and picks up the girl, holding her head so she can’t see, taking her away from the slowly growing pool of blood and into the bedroom.

“Wait here, baby girl.”

She lays Leonie in the cradle. Her silent cry contorts her face, but Constance can’t comfort her—not now. The job isn’t finished.

Constance takes the brown bottle from the bathroom cabinet, and goes through to the other bathroom where Gregor is starting to stir. He is trying to sit up. He eyes her with confusion.

“Gregor,” she cries, “what’s happened? Don’t try to get up too fast. Here, let me help you.”

She grabs an arm as the man tries to stand up. He slips on the blood, and Constance only needs to push him a little to help him fall backward into the tub, where he hits his head again and lies still.