But life wasn’t magical, it was messy and real and never more real than when Sean turned up at the door, frantic because he’d found the article and didn’t want their marriage to be in trouble. She didn’t want it to be in trouble either, but her response to that had been to dig her head into the sand and then run away and press Pause on her life, whereas he’d immediately sped to her side.

She’d always thought she was nothing like her mother, but now she realized that wasn’t true. Being honest about emotions was easy when those emotions were positive and clear, but not so easy when there were difficult conversations to be had.

She’d lain awake for most of the night, her head full of Finn, that almost kiss, Sean, their wedding, their hopes, the girls, real life. It had all churned around like an ugly soup until she felt nauseated.

She was grateful when light slowly seeped into the room because the darkness seemed to make her thoughts dark too.

At five, she gave up and headed downstairs.

The weather had broken in the night, and a dramatic storm had turned to heavy rain. It had pounded the roof and the windows and bounced off the garden, leaving plants drooping and cowed under the sheer force of it. The weather reflected the change in her situation. Her days of solitary summer sunshine were behind her.

She walked into the kitchen and found Sean already seated at the kitchen table. One look at his face told her that he hadn’t slept either.

Their exchange the night before had been awkward to say the least. She’d broken into a sweat when she’d opened the door and found him there, not because of the heat although that had been overpowering, but at the thought of what would have happened had he arrived half an hour earlier. He would have found her laughing and flirting with Finn in the summerhouse.

She’d ushered Sean inside, appalled that he was clutching that stupid article. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might find it.

“Are you on your own? Where are the girls?”

“They’re at home. I thought this was something we needed to talk about without an audience.” He’d eyed her dress and the stack of plates she hadn’t yet loaded into the dishwasher. “You had company?”

“I had a friend over.” She’d said no more than that but she’d turned scarlet and knew he’d noticed. Funny how when she wanted him to notice things he didn’t, and when she’d rather he missed things he didn’t. “That article isn’t—”

“Isn’t what, Liza?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”