I think he’s glad to see the back of me.

It is the first day I have been out of bed. The pain in my side is sharp and slicing but, with George’s help, I make it to the bathroom and a nurse helps me wash my hair while I tremble and try not to cry at the thought of all those who have used the shower before me. The skin they would have shed. Traces of bacteria. We don’t have to be able to see something to fear it. The invisible is always the worst. Afterwards, my hair is wrapped in a stiff and yellowing towel. The nurse supports my elbow as I shuffle back into the corridor.

‘Turn the light off,’ she asks.

Hesitantly I stretch out my fingers and flick the switch, fighting the urge to repeat it twice more.

Small steps.

I am settled in the day room with George. A dark brown tea sits on the table before me. It’s in my own mug, which George has brought in. He looks tired. His jeans hang loose on his hips. Stubble shadows his chin.

I have something to tell him.

‘The doctor has suggested that I don’t come home when I’m discharged. That I admit myself to Mulberry.’ I like that they give it a one-word name. It doesn’t sound like the psychiatric unit it is. ‘The staff are experienced in compulsive OCD and panic disorder and can help me deal with… with the root cause. I think I need… I want to get better. Be better. I don’t know if I should go. I’ll miss Archie… and you. I’ll miss you.’ My words tumble out. ‘I know it hasn’t been easy for you, George, and you deserve a wife who’s… who’s…’ Tears well and before I can swallow them down and speak again, George has reached for my hand.

‘Never doubt that I love you.’ He doesn’t smile as he says this; dread curdles as I wait for the but. And when it comes it is hard and painful. A double betrayal. I had pushed Carly’s revelation about George’s affair to the back of my mind. Not wanting to believe it, but George says:

‘I’ve been having an affair… with Francesca.’

It’s true. I’ve been betrayed by two of the people I trusted most in the world. Betrayed by two of the people I trust most in the world again. Perhaps it’s not as shocking as the deceit of my parents, but all the same I feel an overwhelming sadness. This isn’t only George’s fault though. What have we done to each other? Simon – I never call him Dad – has shaped our lives, is still shaping our lives. It has to stop.

‘Is it over?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’ This time he looks me directly in the eye.

‘Why?’ I wonder if he’s giving her up for Archie’s sake.

‘Because… You.’ He tries to take my hand but I bend my fingers so he can’t hold them. ‘You are everything to me and when… when you started slipping backwards again all I could remember was the rituals, the panic, the OCD, and I forgot,’ he says simply. ‘I forgot how good we can be together and how much I love you.’