Gingerly descending the stairs as if she were an old lady and her limbs unable to support her, Bella made her way to the living room and summoned enough courage to light the fire. Just seeing the flames come to life, filling the room with a warm, orangey hue eased her tense muscles. As the initial shock wore off, she was left with aching limbs but, feeling the warmth grow on her skin, she sighed.

How could it even be possible? It was a cliché to wish it were a dream, but that was strangely how it felt. Like Evan was going to walk back in any second and say it was all a stupid joke. It wouldn’t be a very funny joke and she’d probably have some choice words to say to him, but that was preferrable to the reality of being thirty-five and newly single when everyone, including your own sister, was settling down and having babies.

Bella pressed a hand to her gurgling stomach. Was she hungry or too upset to eat? Sometimes it was difficult to tell. Her body seemed to crave food no matter what she was feeling, especially in the winter when only rich, gravy-laden stodge would do, but cooking anything was beyond her right now. Leaving the warm living room, she grabbed a tin of beans from the cupboard, poured them into a jug and set them to cook in the microwave. Then, taking the largest glass she owned down from the shelf, she decanted most of a bottle of wine into it. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted alcohol. It was just easier than making a cup of tea. All that filling and boiling the kettle, finding the tea bags, milk, sugar, stirring: it all seemed too much effort to her numb mind.

The microwave pinged and she took out the jug and grabbed a spoon from the draining board. The breakfast things were still piled there where she’d washed them up that morning. Evan had sat with her then, eating breakfast before heading off to work. All the while they’d chatted like it was any other day, had he been planning to sneak away?

She replayed the conversation in her head searching for signs. He’d been a little quieter maybe, but he said he’d woken up with a slight headache. She’d thought maybe he was working too hard. A couple of projects had been causing him some stress lately, or so he said. Had those ‘projects’ been worries about a fancy woman named after a fruit and her desire for him to move in?