Louisa’s head was heavy, her eyes puffy. She was desperate to get back into bed, close her eyes and sink into oblivion now Noah was finally sleeping solidly. But it was nearing six o’clock and soon Brian and Emily would be up and about, banging around getting ready for work and school, so there was little point. Brian had offered to take sick leave so he could be with her over the next few days, but she’d convinced him there was no need. She’d rather just be with Noah, not have anyone there fussing over her, watching her every move.

Despite knowing the futility of it, as Louisa reached her bedroom door and noticed that Brian was already out of bed and in the shower, she went in and collapsed onto the mattress, pulling the duvet up to her neck. The gentle rhythm of the water from the shower was hypnotic; she felt herself drifting.

She woke with a start.

For a moment she was disorientated, couldn’t get a grasp on where she was, what time it was, or what was happening. The house was eerily silent. She must’ve slept through Brian and Emily getting ready and leaving for the day. The vision of Tiff’s motionless body, the blood on the tiles, shot into her mind. She moved to the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands over her face to try and rid herself of the images. Her stomach contracted violently, nausea clawing at her throat. Bolting to the toilet, she got there just as the bile forcibly evacuated her body. Last night’s drink burned her oesophagus as it reversed its journey.

Louisa watched herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The woman there was unrecognisable, loathsome. She’d buried her past; put it so far to the back of her mind she’d forgotten almost everything relating to it. To protect herself and Oliver. They’d carried on their lives without thought of the consequences. Or Oliver had – she really had suffered from the trauma – her dissociative amnesia was real. What was Oliver’s excuse for why he had buried the truth for so long?

But knowing she had a condition that meant she didn’t remember the events didn’t make it right. And especially now she did know what had happened, now she had some understanding of what she’d done, to continue to blank it and attempt to put it back in its box and close the lid again, was unforgivable. The knowledge of it was going to be the biggest burden, and if they weren’t going to tell the police, then it was one she’d have to bear alone. The only person who Louisa might’ve had the guts to tell about what she’d learned about herself was now dead.