I want to get this over and done with, to go home, cry in the bath, curl up on the sofa and watch whatever Saturday night TV is on. But I can’t. If I go back before Felix and Em are in bed, I’ll have to pretend to be happy. I don’t want to lock myself in my room like a teenager.

Doubts at my impulsive decisions form. Perhaps I did swoop in to the rescue too soon? It was a fine line. Too long and it could’ve been too late. Even so, I could’ve held back, let Stuart feel his way in the dark for a while longer, make his own mistakes. I’m not a miracle-worker.

No, I decide, as reason takes hold. I had to let Ben go without a fight, there’s no way I could possibly have ignored a baby with another woman. Our relationship wouldn’t have stood a chance. He gave up on us, not vice versa. My conscience, on that front, is clear.

Back in my car I do something I’ve resisted until now: social media. I scroll through Ben’s friends and followers to figure out who she is. He hasn’t posted anything new since we split up and despite what he did, Ben isn’t a cruel person. He wouldn’t rub my face in it. There are two women who are the most likely candidates because they work for the fire service, but they don’t share much, so unless I put more effort into my online digging to give my wound a good poke, I haven’t learned anything useful.

I pull away from the five-star-hotel venue and turn right, opting for the long route. Without initially meaning to, I drive past my new therapist’s house. In this low moment, I hope that by being in close proximity to him, it will be enough to calm my mind. It doesn’t work. I consider people I could call to see if they fancy a drink and a chat, but most of my friends now were Nina’s, too. However much of a positive spin I can put on my current living conditions, I cannot face their unspoken judgment. Neither can I tell them the complete truth. A promise is a promise. Nina trusted that I’d be discreet.

As I slide my key into the lock and push open the front door of my new home, all appears quiet, yet the inviting smell of food draws me in.

“Hi,” says Stuart. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” I say.

“Good. I’ve made a vegetable curry.”

The fact that he’s bothered to cook something vegetarian, (something that always frustrated Ben about me because he’s such an avid meat-eater) makes me want to cry for a different reason. Pent-up pain dissolves as I sit opposite Stuart. Warm relaxation replaces stress. I have done the right thing, for both of us, for now. We can give each other what we crave: for me, it’s a distraction while I build the foundations for a new life. For him, it’s comfort.