“You’re… what?” Glen says, genuinely disoriented. Zak’s head snaps up. “Wait… pregnant?” Kate doesn’t look away from her husband. Her hands are flat on the table now. “I’m pregnant,” she repeats, a little firmer this time. “That’s not possible,” he says, shaking his head. “We use condoms. Every time.” “You’re telling me a condom failed?” Kate nods quickly, grateful for the lifeline. “They do. It happens. Rare, but—” she l...

Glen walked in the front door around eight thirty, looking like the day had chewed him up and spat him back out. Tie loose, briefcase dropped by the hooks, shoes kicked off. The kitchen smelt thick with cheesy beef casserole-tomato sauce, pasta, melted cheddar on top, still bubbling a little from the oven. He headed straight in to the kitchen. Kate’s at the island plating it up. Hair damp from her shower, sticking to her...

Zak slammed the front door so hard the letterbox rattled, and the frame shook. Kate jumped in the kitchen. The knife clattered into the sink, carrots spinning off the board and rolling under the fridge. She spun round sharply. “Zak!” He didn’t stop; he stormed past the doorway and hit the stairs. Footsteps pounding up, bannister creaking like it was gonna snap. Kate threw the tea towel down and went after him fast. “Don’t...