She couldn’t claim to understand him, and there was sadness in the fact she knew him so little. Like her, he had suffered from a restricted upbringing, and it had harmed him as it had harmed her. Isolation wasn’t healthy, of that Miki was sure. People needed each other, and they needed an opportunity to make their own choices and mistakes. So why had it been so important for Kurt to control her? Had he been trying to recreate their past life on the farm? Trying to emulate Father? Or had he enjoyed the power he’d held over her?

For too long, Miki had allowed herself to be contained and dominated without challenging him. She’d done it for a peaceful life, as Mother had taught her. And yet it hadn’t brought her peace—quite the opposite. It had caused her grief and sadness, restriction, suffocating loneliness.

But now she had to let it all go. Loss and grief, she realised, were the ingredients of rebirth. She had to pass through them before she could grow.

She could begin again.

Feeling strangely unburdened, she ventured through the back door, which was no longer locked: it was gone. Then she walked slowly down the concrete back steps. The only part of the damaged shop she really wanted to see was Kurt’s room underneath, the only place spared by the fire. But the police had already emptied it. She was disappointed; anything left that mattered would have been among Kurt’s hidden things. She had hoped to find something that explained his reasons for the way he had treated her. She had hoped to find her precious books, but perhaps he had disposed of them after all. She had hoped to find Father’s black folder—who knew where it was now.

She saw the vacant room, and turned away. Hope was in new beginnings and what she could make for herself.

In the afternoon, Fergus came to Geraldine’s house to ask questions. Miki’s face was still sore, but the swelling was starting to settle. Even so, she noticed Fergus’s discomfort as he lowered himself into a chair in Geraldine’s kitchen. He obviously wasn’t sure which eye to look at: her right eye was bloodshot and her left one was fat with a purpling bruise. The graze on her cheek was bad too—Kurt had done a good job, nothing by halves with her brother.