When I check the mail I see something that freezes the blood in my veins. It’s in our letterbox. A few bills, junk mail. And something else. An image. I feel like I could throw up. It’s of me… and Daniel. The ground oscillates beneath me. He took a photo of us. Together. Then he printed it on this card, found out where I lived from my MyTrack account and delivered it. But the image is from inside the house, shot from the ceiling as if from a surveillance camera. I turn it over and see five words written on the back.

Does Cain know about us?

I search the street with my eyes, every window and door all the way to the end. Where is he? Did he put this here? I shove the photo in my bra. Marching straight to the bathroom, I lock the door, rip it up and flush it down the toilet. What if Cain had found this? It could end my marriage.

‘Lina,’ Cain calls from somewhere in the house. I go to the basin, splash water on my face and eye myself in the mirror. He doesn’t know, I tell myself. He didn’t see it, otherwise his voice wouldn’t be so light. But he could have seen it. And what then? Our marriage would be over. My life would be over. Another surge of guilt, it feels like grief. But there’s nothing to grieve. Nothing has happened. I could contact the police, does this qualify as harassment?

‘Lina,’ he calls again.

‘One moment, just on the loo.’

A few deep breaths, I flush again then I open the door and head towards the kitchen where I find him sitting on a stool at the island.

‘Hey darling,’ he says, rising and kissing my forehead.

‘Hi,’ I say, relieved to find he’s normal, nothing amiss.

‘I want you to see something.’

He has his laptop open and he shows me a Facebook page, it belongs to one of the last guests.

‘What is it?’

‘Read this.’ His finger lands on the screen, a review.

Stayed at the best WeStay on the weekend on Lake Tarawera. Would recommend it to everyone.

How can I feel pride, how can I feel anything other than this sickly anxiety? It’s the photo, the fact an image like that exists. Could I claim it was photoshopped if Cain ever did see it?

Cain scrolls down. Dream retreat and we have the place all to ourselves. In another photo, the woman is in our bathroom. I wince seeing how dirty the mirror looks in the camera flash. Next is a man in our bed, his scruffy hair poking out of the sheet, flattening the pillow. In the background you can see the lake.

He continues scrolling through the images. Two glasses touching in front of the fire. The glasses are full of white wine.