The words came out before I could stop them, and as soon as they had I wanted them back. I felt naked, completely exposed.

He frowned, confused. ‘How …’ He sighed. ‘What does that—’

‘Nothing.’ I shook my head, felt my eyes get hot. I pressed the heels of my palms over them, trying to make it stop, all of it. ‘Never mind.’

‘Cait.’ His voice softened, and I knew he’d moved closer. I could almost see him, the look on his face. I knew that look.

It’s why my dad left.

I just wanted it all to stop.

‘What happened, Cait? Tell me.’ He was begging, desperate.

All of it. I wanted it to stop.

The thought pushed me back, and he had to hold on to my arms to stop me from falling over. ‘Whatever it is, we can fix it. I can—’

‘You can’t fix it.’ Owen hadn’t fixed Frannie. Twelve years they’d been together. She’d told us that once. Twelve years, and still—

‘We can try.’ He exhaled. ‘Caitlin, please.’

‘Don’t.’ I pulled away, stepped back. Lina couldn’t fix her mum. I couldn’t fix anything. My hands shifted and I could see his face again. Different now. Lost. Scared. Scaring me.

‘Please. Just tell me.’

It was so small it shattered something inside me. Glitter. Glass.

‘You want to know?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer.

‘Do you?’ I asked again. ‘Because if I tell you it’s there and then …’

I looked at his face. Still. Scared. Desperate.

‘Okay.’ I gave in. Too much. ‘Okay.’

I took a breath. Another one. He didn’t move.

‘This is a support group. People call us the Morbids.’ My voice shook. I paused, tried to steady it. ‘Do you remember when you asked me if I ever thought about dying?’

He nodded, just a fraction.

‘Well, I do. I think about dying all the time. I think about how I’m going to die, how one night someone is just going to come up behind me on the street and put their hands around my throat and drag me away.’

I tasted bile.

‘I think about that moment when it all disappears. All the ways it could happen. It’s why I don’t sleep. When I sleep I have nightmares about it. All the fucking time. All the time.’ I looked away. ‘Or I did. Until we—’

He winced, small, soft. I glanced up, at his face. Pale, even in the darkness. His jaw tight, eyes fixed on me.

‘I was in an accident. A couple of years ago. It was Matt’s birthday party and I got an Uber home, and this van just—’

I heard him exhale.

‘We got hit. From the side. Hard.’