He closes the window and pulls up a spreadsheet. I’ve not seen it before and have no idea what it’s for but it’s clearly something to do with his work.

‘Knock, knock,’ I say.

He turns back. ‘Lina,’ he says, trying to smile. ‘How long have you been home?’

‘I just got in,’ I say. ‘I’ve been out for a run. Is the house all ready for this weekend?’

‘Yep. Still can’t believe how spotless it was.’

‘That’s great.’

He narrows his eyes. ‘What’s with the smile?’

I can’t tell him yet. I can’t get ahead of myself; I need a test and it might not last. I’ll need to wait until I can get to the doctor. ‘I’m fine. Just went a little too hard.’ I try to laugh, he’s not buying it.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘How fast?’

‘Sorry?’

‘How fast did you run?’

‘Oh,’ I say, taking my phone from the case strapped to my arm. I open the MyTrack app. Six kilometres in 25.41. I notice then that I have six new notifications on my running app. I never get notifications. I try to swallow the stone growing at the base of my throat, but it only seems to make it heavier. It feels like I can barely draw air down into my lungs.

‘Well?’ he says.

‘Four minutes ten per kilometre,’ I say.

‘Pretty good,’ he adds, dropping down onto the leather couch and taking up the remote. We used to run together before Cain’s deployment. He once ran a marathon in a little under three hours.

I click the tiny red number six in the app. Someone has liked all of my runs from the past month. Daniel Moore. It’s as though my body knew this was coming. And yet this can’t be happening. But it is happening. The runs start and end at the same point so he knows where I live. He knows my real name, my full name. Does he recognise a pattern? Every second or third day at around 5.30 pm. Or at midday when I’m working night shifts.

Cain is close, I could just tell him. He would help me, after the storm of rage, the explanation, the regret. If he doesn’t leave me, if I can hold on to him, he will help. But that’s a big ugly if. The sort of if I’d never risk. He won’t understand why I did it. My desperation to save us, what we have.

I change my runs to private, that way no one can see them but me. Breathe slowly, Lina. I’m still gaping at the phone while Cain strides past me out towards the kitchen, the lounge.

‘I’m going to have a shower,’ I say, feeling the sweat running down my cheeks.

‘Sure, I’ll get dinner on soon.’