My shoes strike the pavement as I recall those tough years. I take my usual trail down towards the harbour, lengthening my stride out beneath the streetlights. There are almost no other runners despite the fact it’s still early – my usual runners’ group has been and gone today. On the road nearby, cars pass. I don’t venture from the footpath, never veering too far into the shadows. I run at a level where I can still think clearly and breathe in through my nose. I think about Daniel.

I deleted the dating app. I’d not given him my number or met him near my place. I concealed everything that could have identified the real me. I found someone who didn’t live in Auckland full-time, someone outside of my social circles, age group. Someone who seemed normal. Funny, he probably thought the same thing about me. But obviously I’m not normal.

My purse was on me at all times. Well, sort of. It wasn’t on me when we had sex, and I suppose when I got up to go to the bathroom or when I slept. In his drunken state could he have gone through my things and seen my ID for the ambulance service? Could he have taken my necklace as a way to organise another meet-up?

What if he turned up at the house? What if he met Cain?

And there’s something else. I feel different. It feels how it did last time. But now the knocking in my chest grows fierce. The emotions have been deeper, much more sudden. The loss of the father today had brought tears, something that hasn’t happened since my first few months in the ambulance. And my energy levels have felt a little low.

I’m close to home. I feel like if I keep running I’ll faint, so I walk briskly towards the house. Dizziness swirling the streetlights. It’s unfamiliar, this feeling. A new drug. A sort of motion sickness but it’s not quite the same. It might have worked. It might have actually worked.

Cain’s car is there. He’s home from Tarawera.

I find him in the study at his desk. Despite how much I slow my breathing, my heart continues to pound. I just stand there and watch as he opens a window and a horse race pops up, the rapid voice of the announcer comes through the speaker. He leans forward on his forearms, while I observe him.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Come on, get up!’ He leans closer and closer. ‘Oh shit.’ He clicks his tongue when the race ends. He gently knocks his fist against the table. ‘You lame bastard.’

He must be gambling again. But I have my own secrets. And if this pregnancy lasts, if I am pregnant then none of this will matter. Our lives will be back on track.