Cyrus Hargrave

“Double Life,” my husband called it. “You didn’t sleep here again, Ian,”

Robert and Chloe lived together for seven years. Never apart since secondary school. No children ever came.

All the neighbours know John’s a hopeless incompetent – sometimes called a useless clot, sometimes

Evelyn sighed as Alfred dithered near the entrance while she paid for the groceries. By the time she

Helen stared numbly at the street below. Little Katie had fallen asleep in her arms ages ago, yet Helen

It’s a regular weekday at the hospital. People fill the waiting area, absorbed in their concerns—some

A profound silence fell within the church, thick as fog, tangible. The air hung heavy with incense and

The ink barely holds my thoughts this evening. Stepping through the registry office doors clutching white

I recall I had no business by Windermere that afternoon. Just slipping away for a sandwich, a brief pause

For twenty-three years, my entire existence revolved around my paralysed boy. Then a nanny cam unveiled