On my wedding night I hid under the bed to surprise my husband. His mother came in instead, sat down on the mattress above me, and put a call

do not take it to them.

Not to check it. Not to be

fair. Not because it would be disloyal to keep it to yourself.

Sit with it for a fortnight and do one boring thing about it on your own.

Because the person who warned you has just spent everything they had, and if you hand it over, they do not get to warn you twice.

They were his mother’s. I know Lorna’s heels the way you know a clock in your own house — I had spent two years listening for them across kitchens.

She crossed that room and sat down on the mattress directly above me.

The springs came down against my back. I could feel the weight of her