The next morning George didn’t go home. He slept in the ward beside Thalia’s bed, his eyes hollow, he was clutching her hand.

She remained unconscious, and he could not think past the pulse of dread that kept beating in his chest , the image of her face when she woke up and learned she’d lost her pregnancy again. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and let the apology slip out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry this happened again. It’s my fault, Thalia,” he murmured.

The landline ...