She still gets nervous when she has to drop off or pick up Jackson from Greg’s. Mostly she stays in the car, keeping a safe distance from him because she doesn’t want to feel those horrible flutters. The ones that tell her she’s still not over what he did to her. Over him. What a joke. It’s been years: time should have helped her, but it hasn’t. It’s only increased her anger towards him, because every passing day is another day where she’s living a life she didn’t want. She’s a single mother now, and that’s something she never saw coming.

Holly will never let Greg know this, of course, she will never surrender her power to him again. Those days are far behind her.

Something she’s grateful for, though, is that Jackson is a good kid. When he’s older, she’ll make sure he doesn’t turn out like his father, and she’ll let him know too, exactly what his father did.

This evening Greg was supposed to be dropping Jackson off at home; instead, just because he’s got dinner plans with Marty and the others, she has to now rush from her meeting to pick up their son. Sienna will be there, standing in the doorway, probably wondering why all she ever gets from Holly is a vague acknowledgement from the car. Holly has nothing against her – she’s not the woman who destroyed her life.

Sometimes Holly wishes she could scream out to Sienna that she doesn’t know the man she’s married, that Greg isn’t who she thinks he is. Holly always refrains from this, though. Greg has bought her silence. Literally. And without his regular deposits into her bank account, she wouldn’t have this house, not on her own.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Jackson says, sliding into the back of the car, clicking on his seat belt. As she begins to drive away, she remembers the old days, having to put Jackson in a car seat, how awkward it was to strap him in. Those were shared moments with Greg, even though both of them were too busy with work to appreciate that those times would be over so quickly.

‘No Dad today?’

‘No.’

In the rear-view mirror Holly notices the disappointment etched on Jackson’s face. His father is a saint to him, someone to idolise; it hurts him when things like this happen. She’s had enough of it now; she’s done with keeping Jackson in this bubble when it will only lead to disappointment, and probably do him more harm than good in the long run. He’s nearly fourteen, it’s about time he knew the truth.

‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me. Work always comes first.’