“My two best friends are the only . . .” I frown, unsure how to carry on the sentence. “They came over that night, and . . .” I shrug. “We were young. I don’t know what we talked about.”

“Are you still in contact with them?”

“Blake Grayson.” I shrug. “You know, him and Antony Deluca are still my best friends.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Every day. We all bought houses in the same street.”

He smiles. “You look after each other.”

“I guess.” I shrug.

“It sounds like you have a good network around you.”

I nod.

“Do you ever think about death, Henley?”

I swallow the lump in my throat as my eyes rise to meet his. “I don’t care if I die.”

“What about others?”

My breath begins to shake again. “It’s not something I dwell on.”

“What about inside a relationship? Does it ever cross your mind?”

“No,” I snap.

“But”—he pauses as if collecting his thoughts—“if you do love another woman . . . she might die and leave you, couldn’t she?”

I clench my jaw. His words strike a chord in the pit of my stomach.

“And you couldn’t possibly go through that pain again, could you?”

I close my eyes. This topic is too real. “Shut up.”

“Because where would you be if another woman you loved left this earth before you? Is that where your thought process has taken you?”

“Shut. Up,” I snap, infuriated. “This is not helping. Just fucking fix me. I don’t go over this shit. It doesn’t fucking help. All it does is upset me again.”

“Your reaction to relationships is completely understandable,” he says calmly.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I spit.

“In my opinion, you have posttraumatic stress disorder brought on by an apocalyptic event. The human mind has an intelligence of its own. It will do whatever it takes to protect you from future harm.”

I clench my jaw so hard that I feel like my teeth may crack.

“It’s called self-preservation, Henley. Your mind is unconsciously protecting you from harm. If you don’t love someone with your whole heart, you can never feel that pain again.”

The floor moves beneath me as I stare at him.

“But this behavior no longer serves you, Henley. It’s now sabotaging your happiness and future. You need to make a conscious decision to let it go.”

“Let it go,” I huff. “Like it’s that fucking easy? You think I want to be like this?”

“Unconsciously, yes.”

“Fuck you.”

“The first step of recovery is acknowledgement of this behavior.”

“You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about,” I spit. “I’m not listening to this shit for one minute longer.” I stand and march from the office. I’ve had as much of this fucking idiot as I can take. “I won’t be back.”

“Henley,” he calls after me. “We are not finished.”

With my heart beating out of my chest, I push out through the heavy doors and storm to my car.

Fuck . . . just get me home.

Juliet

I watch through the kitchen window as Rebecca lies on a blanket in the morning sun in the back garden with Barry.

She’s strong.

It’s been days since that ungodly night where we caught her husband out. He’s begged for forgiveness and tried to force his way back into their house.

Blake won’t hear of it, won’t even let him drive in the street without waylaying him and threatening to kick his ass.

The joke of it is, after John got caught out that night, he went straight back to his mistress’s house. He’s still staying there now, clueless that, thanks to the Apple AirTag, we know his every move.

Rebecca has been staying with me, still not up to staying alone. If I’m honest, it’s helping me too. While she’s being brave, I still feel like my world is about to end.

I miss Henley. I miss the laughter we shared and the way he made me feel.

Rebecca is finally meeting with John this afternoon to discuss the future. She wanted to be stronger before she properly talked to him.

Hopefully now she is.

Knock, knock sounds at the door.

I flick the tea towel over my shoulder and open the door. “Blake.” I smile.

“Hi.” He smiles back. “You guys okay? I’m heading to the hospital to check in on some patients. Just wondering if you need anything.”

“We’re good.” Recently I’ve been seeing exactly what Chloe sees in the good doctor. He has a swoon factor of one thousand. “You know, for a gangbanging player . . . you are surprisingly attentive, Mr. Grayson.”

He chuckles. “Just checking in on you both.” He turns and walks down the front steps, and I follow him out. “How’s she doing . . . really?” he asks.

I shrug as we get to the mailbox. “She’s okay. I guess she’s had time to get her head around this long before it was actually confirmed as true.”

He nods as he listens.

“She’s meeting with him this afternoon to discuss what’s happening with them, so I guess she will know more after that.”

“What a fucking idiot he is.” He shakes his head in disgust.

“I know.”

Henley’s front door opens, and we both look up. He walks out, wearing a perfectly fitted navy suit and a crisp white shirt. His back is ramrod straight. He glances over at us and nods but then keeps walking to his car. With my heart in my throat, I watch as he drives past us without so much as a wave.

My heart sinks. He really doesn’t care.

“Don’t mind him . . . he’s . . .” Blake shrugs. “Sorting through some stuff right now.”

I roll my lips so I don’t say something snarky.

“He’s a good man, Juliet.”

My eyes search his. “Is he?”

“Don’t give up on him.”

“He gave up on me.”

“Henley is”—he exhales heavily—“complicated.”

Suddenly I want all the information I can get from Blake. “How so?”

“It’s not for me to elaborate on . . . but just”—he shrugs—“give it some time.”

“Is there someone else?” I ask.

“God no.” He screws up his face. “It’s nothing like that.” He kisses my cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, thanks.” I watch as Blake crosses the cul-de-sac and gets into his new silver Porsche. It purrs like a kitten as he starts the engine. He waves happily as he drives off into the distance, and my mind wanders over his insight.

Don’t give up on him.

I wish it were that easy.

At 5:00 p.m., a text bounces through. It’s from Rebecca.

Can we go out for dinner and drinks.

I need to vent.

Shit. It must not have gone well. I reply.

Sounds good, I’ll book and call Chloe.

Seven ok?

Margaritas are on the menu.

I watch as her dots bounce.

Sounds great.

7:00 p.m.