t had been eight years. Eight years of caring too much. Of doing more than her share. Of turning the other cheek. And of trying to keep it together when Harold couldn’t, or wouldn’t—it was hard to guess what his intentions were anymore.

The camel lay under the proverbial final piece of back-breaking hay. Things were going to be different from now on. And she knew what she had to do to change them.

Libby took a moment to compose herself. She gently closed her eyes and took ten deep breaths. She picked up her phone and sent a text to Harold telling him to meet her at the park that evening.

The park’s significance couldn’t be understated to both of them. It’s where they met. It’s where they had spent countless visits sitting on the grass, enjoying a carefully concealed glass of wine, watching the swans go by. It was also a meeting spot that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.

But when she arrived, it wasn’t Harold in their usual pond-side spot. It was her own mother—who had disappeared 20 years ago when she was just a teenager.

“We need to talk.” she said.