“I have a gift,” he says. “A wedding one.”

I stare at him in the mirror. “It feels inappropriate, like you’re trying to buy my silence somehow.”

“Open it.”

I can tell by the shape of the box that it’s jewelry.

It’s a silver charm bracelet.

The same thing he bought Nina as a wedding gift, and not too different from the one nestled among her precious things to pass on to the children.

I hold my breath as he clasps it around my wrist.

“I’ll add to it each anniversary. I appreciate Nina had one similar, but yours has different charms.”

“It makes me feel uncomfortable,” I say.

“Only if you let it,” he says. “Now, where are those diaries? I assumed that she had only written notebooks full of advice for the children to read when they’re older.”

I hand over the latest one only.

I wake up in the early hours, briefly disoriented. My son kicks.

Stuart is asleep beside me. Clearly, he didn’t find Nina’s journal that riveting.

My wrist aches. I fell asleep with the bracelet on, and it’s made disfiguring red welts deep into my skin.

I remove it and place it in the bedside table. I feel hot. I take several sips of water. At first I wonder if I’m ill, if the minute amount of gin I drank has had an adverse effect, but no, something else is wrong on top of everything else.

It’s a Tuesday night.

Is Stuart trying to mold me into his old routines?

Wide-awake, I study his face for clues that something isn’t right. Of course, there’s nothing. But what I must face up to is that I don’t truly know the man I’ve married. Any more than I thought I knew my closest friend. They both kept secrets from me, big ones. It makes me fearful for what I’ve let myself in for and what else I’ve missed.

Meanwhile, I’ve been left with a bitter choice: justice for Charlie or keeping my longed-for family intact. One or the other, but clearly not both.

Twenty-Four

I can’t deny that I have secrets, too.

Thankfully I have an appointment with Christian the following morning. Exhausted, I drive over to his office, oblivious to my surroundings. When I walk into his consulting room, it’s an instant relief. I’ve bottled too much up.

Usually, the things I tell him are so random and inane, sometimes they lead somewhere, but even then I’m never sure if what I’m talking about is what I want to talk about. I never come out of a session feeling like I’ve achieved or learned something useful, yet I must have. Surely? Most of the research I’ve undertaken suggests that it is beneficial, retelling stories to a stranger, but I have moments when I look at Christian and think, can I really trust you? I mean, who is he really when he’s off duty? Responsible? Kind? Law-abiding? Does he gossip? Sometimes, I think in advance about what I’m going to say, but then I always veer off topic.