I leave her with that thought as I walk slowly back to the main house.

Stuart has truly embraced our marriage. He has chosen to see what I did to Greg as evidence of my loyalty. Suddenly, despite everything I’ve worked for, it feels like living with a python, the life squeezed out of me in a torturous, slow fashion. When I read to the children from The Jungle Book, I am morbidly fascinated by the picture of the grinning snake coiled around the main character.

But I can’t leave Stuart, for so many reasons. He might say he wouldn’t drop me in it for the kids’ sake, but who is to say that he won’t? There are no guarantees that there wouldn’t be any drunken pillow talk with a future person or that the urge to come clean won’t strengthen over time. People change. I learned that from Christian.

Stuart insists that he wanted to protect Nina, but it’s undeniably creepy how almost gleeful he was to be able to do the same for me. As if he knew it would trap me, make me stay. Because I can never risk being separated from my son. Greg’s observation that Stuart was Nina’s penance makes more sense to me now. And now it seems he is mine. While no one has been arrested for Greg’s murder—yet—I suddenly almost feel as though I’m serving a sentence of my own; if I stay with Stuart until Jack is eighteen, that’s roughly six thousand, five hundred and seventy days.

Kevin and Suzanne are due to fly over to spend Christmas with us. Even my brother with the eternal itchy feet is apparently going to return before the new year. Life goes on.

Meanwhile, we’ll all carry on pretending. If we get up each day, get dressed, eat breakfast, check our calendars and go through the motions, we’ll all get through this. In a few more years, the children’s memory of Nina will have diminished further, and it will be me who they turn to for advice. I’ll try not to overprotect them, however hard it may be. I want their upbringing to be different than mine even though I now realize that every parent does their best. I will teach them to be strong, to not rely on other people for their own self-worth, to make friends or keep friends who want to be with them because they genuinely like them. Also, to choose a partner wisely.

I frequently dream of the knife that killed Greg: the sharpness of the blade, the serrations, the easy-grip handle enabling Camilla to hold it so tightly as she plunged it into his neck.

I start to believe that nothing will ever happen, Greg-wise. But I promised Louise that I’d help her. Sometimes, things need a push.

I invite her over to stay one evening and we watch movies, talk about her problems, make pancakes (sweet and savory), which are a big hit with everyone. I pretend not to notice when she feeds Goldie a small piece of one.