Justin hadn’t been sure why he’d decided to come to the hospital the day before his son’s funeral, but once he’d arrived, he’d realised he needed space, to try and get his emotions under control. He’d worked hard at that over the years, since he’d discovered his murdered family and almost lost his sanity. Whenever his thoughts went there, images like sick movie stills playing through his mind, his moods swinging violently from the same paralysing panic he’d felt then, through despair, to angry disbelief that the bastard responsible – an opportunist thief needing to feed his drugs habit – had never been caught, he employed the coping mechanisms he’d learned: calming deep breaths; counting when he felt himself too close to the edge. Tiles on floors, fluorescent lights on ceilings, he counted until he was able to reach some kind of detachment. But the tidal wave of grief, shot through with sheer fury, that crashed over him every time he thought about Luke, about what kind of person could hit a car, clearly causing serious injury to a family, and then run – Justin stood no chance of detaching from that. From the fact that he was also culpable; driving whilst tired and distracted.

As hard as he tried not to dwell on why he’d been distracted, he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps because of the irony of Radley resurfacing days before the incomprehensible cruelty that had taken Luke from them. Justin knew he needed to let it go. Alicia and he had taken a step forward since the accident, with Alicia, at least, no longer keeping all her grief inside – Justin knew how destructive that could be. She still seemed unable to talk properly to him though, hold eye contact with him, and he badly needed her to. He was assuming it was because he’d been driving, that there was part of her that couldn’t help blaming him. Still, though, his mind would wonder about Radley. He simply wouldn’t go away.

Taking a breath, Justin realised the parents of the six-month-old baby girl brought in with brain trauma would probably wonder what he was doing, staring down at her, and snapped his attention back to her.

He’d performed emergency surgery on this child the day before his own little boy had died. She was alive. A small miracle in the bleak madness his life had become. Untouched, untroubled, untarnished. He couldn’t help recalling what he’d thought when he’d first gazed down in wonder at Sophie. At Lucas. He’d sworn to keep their world safe. To keep them safe. He’d failed. Failed in his most fundamental obligation as a father.

Swallowing hard as a new wave of grief sucked the air from his lungs, Justin tried to breathe through it, focussing on checking the little girl’s vital statistics. And then, satisfied she was doing as well as she could be, he stroked her cheek softly with his finger and was rewarded with a delighted gurgle, which almost broke his heart all over again. ‘She’s going to be a knockout,’ he said, composing himself and turning to offer the parents a reassuring smile.

‘Thanks, Dr Cole.’ The young father smiled awkwardly and then glanced away.

Justin guessed they’d heard the news about his son, which had travelled like wildfire around the hospital. He should go. He hadn’t meant to make them feel uncomfortable, which inevitably they would be, but he’d needed to see for himself that she was thriving. ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of the nursing staff,’ he said, smiling again as he turned for the door.

‘Dr Cole,’ the mother said, behind him.

Justin had only half turned back when she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him, dropping her head to his shoulder and squeezing him hard. ‘Thank you,’ she said emotionally. ‘For everything. For coming to check on her. You’re a very special man.’

Justin didn’t feel very special. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he counted, anger was all he felt. So much anger and guilt stuffed inside him it was fucking choking him. He managed to make it to one of the patients’ toilets along the corridor before he gave vent to his tears.