Tears rolled down her cheeks as she opened the wardrobe door and pulled the closest garment from its hanger before realizing that the dress barely fit her anymore; none of them did. As she closed the door, Alice caught her reflection in the mirror on the other side—bloodshot eyes sunken in their sockets, her skin paler than usual, its tone uneven, her cheekbones sharp under the harsh light of the bulb—and she was struck by how different she looked, as well as how foreign her life and her body had become. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to her but also because she was leaving her old life behind; when she returned, everything would be so changed.

Over the past few years she and Ruth had needed to get used to many strange situations, things that didn’t make sense, and this was just as impossible to reconcile.

How can my world have cracked apart to reveal the worst of human nature and the best of it? How do I feel so much hatred and yet have so much love to give?

She’d managed up until now because she’d believed that she wasn’t alone; that she had Ruth’s love and support, but did she? Her mother’s moods were increasingly unpredictable, just as they’d been after her father’s and brother’s deaths. The prospect of an illegitimate grandchild might be too much for her after all; perhaps she was too mentally fragile to cope.

Alice crossed the hallway to William’s room, stopping halfway to check that Ruth was still downstairs. She was moving around in the kitchen, and Alice pictured her as she’d once been, softer and warmer.

Then Alice crept into the darkened bedroom that she wanted to turn into a nursery but that Ruth didn’t want touched. It was two years since the destroyer William served aboard was sunk off Norway, and although to Ruth his room was a reassuring shrine, Alice knew that it would never bring her brother back.