Realising the shrill cry piercing the silence wasn’t part of her nightmare, Mel snapped her eyes open. Her phone was on the bedside table, its persistent ring dragging her from sleep, sleep that was no escape from the insanity her life was becoming.

It stopped as she reached for it. Lethargic, her limbs too heavy, she couldn’t even manage to take a phone call. Close to tears, Mel summoned up what little energy she could and disentangled herself from the duvet, woozily sitting up and reaching for the phone as it started ringing again. She’d almost hit answer when she realised who was calling. Lisa.

Anger and humiliation welling up inside her, Mel let it ring. Staring at the phone as it went again to voicemail, she wiped a salty tear from the screen, swiped another determinedly from her face, and then steeled herself to listen. Both voicemails were from Lisa, along with several texts. The gist of it all was that whatever Mel was thinking, she was wrong. Mel swallowed back her heart, which seemed to be wedged painfully in her windpipe, seeing again the fury in Mark’s eyes, the coldness, the accusation. She hadn’t got that wrong. She hadn’t imagined the vodka bottle he’d tossed at her, the disgust on his face. She hadn’t imagined that, any more than she’d imagined she wasn’t drinking.

Sinks blocking up, kilns breaking down, the freezer… A hand going involuntarily to her breast, Mel drew in a long breath. The key. Poor Hercules.

She breathed out. Mark confiding in another woman, the excessive texting between them, the lies. She had not imagined any of it.

The only thing that was wrong was this house, which she’d once loved the very bricks and mortar of, and everything in it. Mark was wrong. What he was doing was wrong. He had two children, for God’s sake. Evie was so tiny, so vulnerable. Poppy worshipped the ground he walked on. Why would he do it? Why would he send the woman she’d once considered a friend to check up on her, and then blatantly text her while she was in the house? Why would Lisa go along with it? Were they colluding to drive her out of her mind, or to leave? Why? She had no money. Her inheritance was tied up in the house. Unless it was the house he wanted? She had nothing else, nothing worth…

The children?

Was that it? He knew she would never part with them. Ever. And he wanted – needed – to be part of a family. But if he didn’t want her, as a wife, as a mother to his children, what better way to eliminate her from that role than to label her an unfit mother? To label her insane? Have her sectioned? Take power of attorney over her affairs. Take everything. Mel’s stomach tightened, certainty running coldly through her like ice in her veins.

She had to get out.

Mel pulled herself to her feet, nausea immediately washing over her. She had to go. Reeling, she forced herself unsteadily on, another bout of dizziness assaulting her as she made it to the bathroom. She needed to shower, but there was no time. Jade would be back soon with Poppy. She needed to be ready.

She needed not to take the fucking tablets.

Leaning over the toilet, Mel tried to make herself regurgitate those she had taken, but only managed to retch painfully. Her stomach was empty and raw. As raw as her heart.

Evie. Turning to the sink, Mel ran the taps full force and splashed cold water over her face. Stumbling back to the bedroom, she tore off her shirt, Mark’s shirt, feeling as though her chest might tear in two as she did. She pulled on jeans and a clean T-shirt, and stuffed her feet into her flip-flops. She would come back for the rest. All that mattered now, though, all she wanted now, were her children.

Going to the nursery, mentally listing the few essential baby items she would need to take, she went straight to the cot – and stopped dead. Empty. The cot was empty. But where…? Jade hadn’t taken her. She’d heard her crying earlier, and not in her dreams. She’d heard her.

Mark. He’d been here when he should have been at work. She’d lost track of time, but she was sure of that. He’d taken her. But where? Would he come back? Again, she saw the impenetrable coldness in his eyes, dark and unforgiving. He would keep Evie close, hold on to her. She couldn’t fight him physically. She couldn’t call the police. Couldn’t call anyone. Couldn’t…

She couldn’t fight him.

Oh God… A sob escaping her, Mel clamped her hand to her mouth and stepped away from the cot. Please don’t let him do this. Sick, giddy with nausea, she staggered back another step, felt for the wall behind her and sank to her haunches. Make it stop. Please, make it stop.