“Late Again After Work?” he barked, his voice edged with jealousy. “I Know Everything Now.” Lena froze in the doorway, clutching the cold handle as damp snow melted on her boots. The flat felt stuffy, thick with the smell of fried onions and heavy, lingering resentment—a bitterness that clung to every curtain and thread these past three weeks. She took a shaky breath and turned to her husband. Andrew stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, dressing gown open over a crumpled t-shirt. The face she’d known for twenty years, now twisted by disgust, looked utterly unfamiliar. “Andrew, the trains are packed…” she began her tired spiel. Her voice sounded muffled, as if through cotton wool. “There’s snow, traffic on the North Circular…” “Enough!” A sharp smack against the wall sent flakes of plaster to the floor. “Enough of this. Traffic? At nine in the evening? Out of town?” He stepped closer and she shrank against the coat rack, wet mac chilling her back. “I called your work,” he said, crisp and clipped. “At quarter past six. Security said you left at five. Where were you for three and a half hours?” That ball of icy dread in Lena’s stomach grew heavier. She’d lied before—harmless ones to keep the peace, smooth things over. But this lie was different, monstrous, hungry for more secrets with every day. “I… I went to the chemist’s. Then to Mum’s—she needed her medicine…” Eyes down, fiddling with her boot zip, she tried to buy time. “Mum, is it?” sneered Andrew. “I called her half an hour ago. She hasn’t seen you all week.” The silence in the hallway rang in her ears. Lena straightened. No escape now. She was just so tired—every evening a minefield, every phone ring a small heart attack. “Met someone, haven’t you?” Andrew’s voice dropped to a chilling softness. “Having an affair? A young workmate? Or that old friend you mentioned last month?” He closed the gap, the stale tang of cigarettes on his breath—he’d started again, despite quitting years ago after his father’s heart attack. “Andrew, there’s no one else—please believe me.” “Believe you?” He gripped her shoulders, shaking her. “Look at you! Lost ten kilos, jump at every noise, locked your phone, never meet my eyes. Classic for a two-timing woman terrified of being caught out. But do you know the worst part?” Tears stung Lena’s eyes. “The worst,” he said bitterly, “is that you’re not even trying to save our family. You come home like it’s a prison sentence. You couldn’t care less about me or our home. Your mind’s always somewhere else—with whoever he is.” “It’s not true,” she whispered. “I love you. I’m doing it all for us—for our family.” “Sleeping around for the family, is that it?” he spat. “Don’t you dare!” Lena’s voice broke from her. “Don’t you dare say that! You don’t know anything!” A door creaked open behind them; the pale, drawn face of their nineteen-year-old son, Kieran, poked through, looking gaunt and hollow-eyed. “Mum, Dad… please don’t shout,” he pleaded, voice shot with panic. Andrew spun on him: “Go to your room! This is between grown-ups—or do you know where your mum disappears at night too?” Kieran flinched, darted a fearful glance at Lena, and slammed his door; the lock clicked shut. Andrew turned back, anger cooling into a cold resolve. “I’m giving you one last chance, Lena. Now. Tell me the truth. Who is he?” Lena shut her eyes. The memory flickered sharp and unrelenting: wet tarmac; headlights catching a small figure in a pink coat; a sickening thud; the screech of brakes fusing into Kieran’s screams, bursting through the flat three weeks ago. “Mum, I didn’t mean to! She ran out, I swear! Don’t call the police—they’ll lock me up, my life’s over! Dad’ll never forgive me, he’ll kill me—Mum, please, save me!” She’d saved him. Or she thought she had. “There’s no one, Andrew,” she said, voice steady as she opened her eyes. “I’m exhausted. Work’s a mess—redundancies—they might let me go. I didn’t want to worry you.” He stared at her, then let her shoulders drop with a look of disgust. “You’re lying,” he said flatly. “I found the pawn shop receipt in your coat yesterday. The gold bracelet I gave you for our anniversary, gone.” Lena’s world shifted beneath her. That blasted receipt—she’d forgotten, distracted, desperate for yet another bundle up… “Needed the money for your lover?” Andrew sneered. “Or is it his debts, and you’re rescuing your precious boy?” “It’s for… for medical bills—a colleague with cancer, we were pitching in…” “The pawnshop?” he cut her off. “Get out, Lena.” “What?…” “Pack a bag and go—to your mum’s, a friend’s, anywhere. I don’t want to see you tonight. I need to decide whether to file for divorce straight away, or if I’ll give you time to confess.” “Andrew, please—it’s night…” “Go!” he roared, shaking cupboard glass. Lena knew this was the end. If she stayed, he’d push until she broke—or Kieran did, listening from behind the door. And then everything she’d fought for these three weeks would collapse. She turned, grabbed her bag (the one hiding another envelope—not cash, but photographs obtained earlier today), and, not even removing her soaked shoes, slipped out onto the stairwell. The door closed behind her with finality. She slumped against the wall. Her phone vibrated—a text, not from her husband: “Tomorrow’s the final deadline. No money, I go to the police. Tell your son I said hello.” She slid down to the floor and sobbed silently into her hand. Snow stormed outside as Lena stumbled down the icy high street. Nowhere to go—not her mother’s (Andrew would call), not to friends (too many questions). Her only option: the all-night café by Paddington, a mug of limp tea for company. She sat hunched in the corner, hands curled around the cup, staring at the phone’s wallpaper—family, tanned and smiling in Corfu just a year back, Kieran grinning beside his father, Andrew looking at Lena with tenderness… How fast it all turns to dust. She thought back: Kieran borrowing the car without asking—to give a girl a lift. No license, just field practice at the cottage. Andrew at work. Kieran back an hour later, white-faced, hands shaking, headlight cracked. He’d wept, collapsed at her feet, swearing it was pitch-black, the girl had come from nowhere, a village road, pure terror, pure panic—he ran. Lena decided in a heartbeat: motherly instinct, obliterating reason, conscience, law. She knew Andrew’s principles: confess, consequences, justice above all, especially as a paramedic. He would’ve called the police instantly. She hid the car in the garage. Ordered Kieran to silence. Next day, she tracked down the other child’s father—Nick—through police friends, using “just want to help” as her cover. A grim block of flats, a kitchen heavy with grief and vodka. She couldn’t pretend long. She confessed: her son, young, stupid, and she would do anything not to destroy his life. Nick didn’t shout. Just named a price—a brutal one. “For the headstone,” he said. “So I can leave this place and forget.” He also made her promise that Kieran would suffer, that they’d live in terror till her debt was paid. Now she sat in the plastic-lit café, pawned bracelet, sold fur coat, credit cards maxed, still short. The next day, Lena called in sick. She had to find another two grand by evening. She took out payday loans, pawned her laptop, borrowed from an old classmate—another lie about emergency surgery. By five, she had it: a thick wad of cash in a brown envelope. She rang Andrew, but he ignored her. Texted Kieran—“It’ll be fine, hold on. Dad won’t know”—he didn’t reply. She went to Nick’s estate. Cluttered, grimy, booze fumes in the air. When she handed the money over, he sneered. “Our deal, you leave, take back your complaint. Leave us alone.” Nick rolled the envelope in his hand. “Think money can fill a hole in the heart?” “I don’t think anything,” Lena said quietly. “I just want to save my son. You promised.” “I did…” He hurled the envelope back at her. “But I’ve changed my mind.” Lena froze. “What do you mean?” “Not enough,” he slurred. “Saw your husband’s posh car last night. You bring me pennies, he’s minted.” “You don’t understand—he has no idea! The car’s the only expensive thing we own. We live on our wages—” “Let him find out!” Nick shouted. “Let him see what a scumbag he raised. My daughter’s cold in the ground, and your boy comes home for tea?” “Please…” Lena begged. “Give me time—I’ll find more, sell the car, anything…” “No more time!” He grabbed her wrist. “Call your husband now, tell him he needs to bring another five grand—or I’m phoning the police!” At that moment, heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway; Andrew, pallid, phone raised (family tracker app glowing), entered. “Knew it,” he whispered, seeing Nick’s grip on Lena and the envelope on the table. “Didn’t even bother switching the tracker off.” Andrew looked from Nick to the money and back. “Well,” he said, voice tight with fury, “How much for a night with my wife?” Lena wrenched free. “Andrew, no—” “Be quiet!” he barked. “I saw you enter this dump. I thought you had taste. I imagined a colleague, your boss… but this—” Nick roared with wild laughter. “Her lover? You think I’m her lover?” “Shut up!” screamed Lena, flinging herself at Nick to muffle him. “Andrew, just go—I’ll explain everything at home!” Andrew shoved her aside. “No. I want to hear it. Now I’m here.” Nick wiped his mouth and stared at Andrew with bitter pity. “Mate—are you blind or just stupid? Your wife isn’t sleeping with me. She’s buying me off.” “What?” Andrew frowned. “She’s buying your peace of mind,” Nick said, waving a black-ribboned photo in Andrew’s face. “Know her?” Andrew took the picture, eyes widening. “That’s… that’s the girl. In the news. Three weeks ago. Run over in Finchley. Driver never found.” “Bingo,” Nick sneered. “Now ask your precious wife—who was driving? And whose car was it?” The silence was thunderous. Andrew turned slowly to Lena, horror etched on his face. “Lena?” he whispered. “You said the battery was dead—you took the keys…” Lena collapsed to her knees. “I’m sorry—it was Kieran. He took the keys. It was an accident, Andrew, please—he’s our son!” Andrew didn’t shout, didn’t move—just stared. A paramedic who’d met death daily; now death wore his son’s face. “Kieran?” he repeated in a hollow voice. “My son killed that child?” “He didn’t kill her!” Lena cried. “It was an accident, a crash!” “He drove off,” Nick said harshly. “Left her dying. The ambulance came fifteen minutes later. If he’d stopped, called straight away… might’ve saved her.” Andrew clung to the doorframe, swaying. “And you knew?” he asked Lena dully. “Three weeks—you knew?” “I was protecting him!” she wept. “I’m his mother! He couldn’t survive prison! I tried to pay, tried to make it go away…” “Pay?” Andrew eyed the envelope. “A child’s life for two grand? Or however much?” Nick looked away. “I gave you everything I could. I just wanted you to suffer. But it’s not enough. I want him locked up.” Andrew picked up the envelope. Paused. Then threw the money at Nick, notes fluttering across the grubby floor. “Keep your blood money,” he said quietly. “I won’t buy my soul.” He turned to Lena, hauled her up from the floor. “Home. Now.” “Andrew—please—let’s talk…” “Just shut up. Be quiet till we get home or God knows what I’ll do.” They left under Nick’s silent glare. At home, Andrew drove recklessly, fingers white on the wheel. The flat was dead quiet—Kieran sat at the kitchen table, untouched tea cooling. He jumped at their entrance. “Dad? Mum? Are you… is everything okay?” Andrew faced him—Kieran looked a child again, despite being a head taller. “Put your coat on,” Andrew said. “Where? Why?” Kieran’s gaze flitted from mother to father—Lena sobbed in the hallway. “To the police,” Andrew said calmly. Kieran sagged. “No, Dad! I can’t! Mum sorted it! Please!” “Mum sorted it?” Andrew laughed bitterly. “She bought you a ticket to hell. For three weeks you’ve eaten, slept, played knowing what you did?” “I’m not sleeping!” Kieran’s voice cracked in tears. “I see her every night! I’m terrified!” “Terrified? Think about that girl dying alone, or her father living in an empty flat.” Lena rushed in. “He’s just a boy, Andrew!” “He’s not a boy!” Andrew shouted, shoving her away. “He’s a grown man who committed a crime and hid behind his mummy’s skirt. And you—” he looked at Lena with agony—“you betrayed me. Not with another man, but by making me the fool. You thought I couldn’t handle the truth; you put a price on our family’s honour.” “I was afraid you’d turn him in!” she shouted. “I would have,” he nodded. “I’d have stayed by his side. We’d get a lawyer, fight for leniency, pay compensation the honest way. We’d look people in the eye. But now? Now we’re cowards—and killers.” Kieran slid to the floor, sobbing. Andrew knelt before him. “Look at me, Kieran.” Through tears, his son met his gaze. “If we don’t go now, you’ll never be whole. This fear will rot you. You want to jump at every siren forever? Wait to be hunted by that man?” Kieran shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore, Dad—I really can’t.” “Then get up. I’ll be with you. But you have to answer for this.” Kieran slowly stood. Something like resolve straightening his posture. “Let’s go,” he whispered. Andrew nodded, then turned to Lena. “You stay here.” “I’ll come with!” she pleaded. “No,” Andrew signaled her firmly. “You’ve done enough. You tried to buy his soul. Now let me see if I can save it.” “Will you forgive me?” she whispered, already knowing the answer. He looked at her for a long, lingering moment, as if memorising the face he’d loved half his life. “I’d have forgiven an affair, Lena. That’s just human weakness. But this… For three weeks you watched me break under suspicion and said nothing. You saw me in agony—and you didn’t care, as long as you could cover your crime.” He opened the door and ushered his son out. “I don’t know how to live with this. Or if I can ever share a bed again with the woman you’ve shown yourself to be.” The door closed. Lena was alone in the silent flat. A pawn shop receipt lay on the hallway floor, dropped from Andrew’s pocket. She went to the window. Below, in the yellow streetlights, two figures—one broad and upright, the other slight and hunched—crossed the snowy car park together, not touching, but walking side by side. Lena pressed her forehead to the freezing glass. The truth had emerged—and it was far darker than Andrew had ever suspected. Not only had it shattered their past, but erased any chance of a future. Yet down below, a father and son trudged on, determined to fight for at least the right to an honest present. Lena slid down the wall, and for the first time in weeks, her tears were not from fear—but from the knowledge that there was no way back. The courts would take their time. The sentence would be real. But the harshest judgement had already been passed here, five minutes ago, and no appeal was possible.

Late again, are you? Jonathans voice, sharp with jealousy, cut through the air before shed even managed to unlace her soaking boots. I see how it is.

Ellen froze, her hand clutching the cold brass doorknob. The flat was stifling, thick with the smell of fried onions and something heavier: stale resentment. That bitterness had lingered for weeks now, seeping into the curtains, the furniture, her very skin. She exhaled slowly, willing her trembling hands to steady, then turned to face him.

Jonathan blocked the kitchen doorway, arms folded tightly over his chest. His dressing gown was open, revealing a crumpled old T-shirt beneath. The face shed known for twenty years seemed almost unrecognisable now, twisted with distaste.

I got held up, transports a mess, she began, familiar excuses tumbling out with a dull, muffled voice. Theres ice everywhere, traffic on the North Circular

Enough! A slap of his palm against the wall sent a small cloud of ancient plaster drifting to the floor. Dont treat me like a fool, Ellen. Traffic? At nine in the evening, headed out of town?

He took a step closer and Ellen instinctively pressed herself against the coat stand, her wet overcoat icy at her back.

I rang your office, he pronounced each word with measured chill, at quarter past six. The security man reckoned you left at five. So where exactly have you been for the last three and a half hours?

Her stomach tightened into a heavy knot of dread. Once, she could navigate small liesnothing serious, just to keep the peace. But this wasnt a little fib. This was bigger, blacker, and ravenous.

I I stopped at the chemist, then popped round to my mums. She needed some painkillers She ducked her head, pretending to wrestle with her boot zip. It stuck; her fingers wouldnt obey.

Mums place? Jonathan sneered. She told me half an hour ago she hasnt seen you all week.

The silence hung in the air of the hallway, vibrating in her ears. Ellen straightened up. There was no escape. Weariness sank through her bonesgood Lord, she was tired. Every evening felt like scrambling through a minefield; every phone call, a tiny heart attack.

So, who is he? Jonathans voice was suddenly quiet, which made it all the more menacing. Someone from work? That young lad who joined last month? Or perhaps an old friend you mentioned ages back?

He closed the distance, and she could smell tobaccohe had taken up smoking again, after swearing off for years since his fathers heart attack.

Jon, theres nobody. Honestly. Please believe me.

Believe you? His hands found her shoulders and shook her. Take a look at yourself. Youve lost almost a stone, you jump at every sound, youve locked your phone, you can barely meet my eyes. Thats how women act when theyre sneaking round and are frightened of being found out. But you know whats worst?

Tears burned at the edges of her eyelids.

The worst bit, Jonathan said bitterly, is youre not even trying to keep this family together. You come home like youre on the way to the scaffold. You dont care about meabout any of this. Youre somewhere else, withwhoever he is.

Its not true, she whispered. I love you. Im doing my best. For us. For our family.

You call sleeping around for the family? he spat.

Dont you dare! she cried, surprising herself with the vehemence. You dont know anything. Dont say that!

Just then, the door to the spare room creaked open. Their nineteen-year-old son, Christopher, pale and haggard with dark circles under his eyes, stuck his head out. His voice broke with nervousness.

Mum, Dad Please stop shouting.

Jonathan snapped round. Go onget back in there! This is between grown-ups. Or do you know where your mothers been every night?

Christopher recoiled and quickly closed the door, the lock clicking in the quiet.

Jonathan turned to Ellen again, fury replaced by cold, determined resolve.

Im giving you one more chance, Ellen. Right now. Tell me the truth. Who is it?

Ellen shut her eyes. The image that haunted her each night returned: slick wet tarmac, headlights illuminating a tiny figure in a pink jacket, a sickening thud. Then the screech of brakes became the howling terror of her son bursting into the flat three weeks past.

Mum, I didnt mean it! She just ran out! Dont call the police, theyll send me away! Dad will never forgive me, please save me, Mum!

And Ellen, believing she could save him, did just that.

Theres nobody, Jonathan, she answered firmly, opening her eyes. Im just exhausted. Works downsizing, I didnt want to worry you, so I kept it to myself.

He searched her face a long time before releasing her shoulders.

Youre lying. His voice was almost disgusted. You lie to my face and dont even blink. I found a receipt, you know. Yesterday, in your coat. A pawnbrokers slip. You pawned the gold bracelet I gave you for our anniversary.

Ellen felt the floor dissolve beneath her. The blasted receiptshed forgotten it, in her panic to scrape together the money

Needed money for the lover, did you? Jonathan sneered bitterly. Or maybe hes in debt, and youre playing Lady Bountiful?

Its foran operation, she lied hastily. A colleague at work has cancer, we passed the hat.

The pawnbrokers? he scoffed. Pack your things and go.

What?

Go. Mums, a friends, hell, sleep on a bench if you like. I dont want to see you tonight. I need to decide whether to file for divorce now or give you time to confess.

But, Jon, its late she whispered.

Out! His bellow rattled the crockery in the cabinets.

She knew then: this was the end. If she stayed, the pressure would only increase until she broke. Or Christopher, eavesdropping from behind the next door, would snap and come outand then everything shed desperately held together for three weeks would collapse.

Wordlessly she picked up her battered handbag, inside which was another envelopetodays, with photographsand stepped back onto the landing, not even bothering to change her shoes.

The door clanged shut behind her with a sense of finality. Alone in the stairwell, her phone vibrated in her pocket. A message. Not from Jonathan.

Tomorrows the last deadline. No full payment, I go to the police. Send my regards to your son.

She slid down the wall, silent and shaking, stifling her sobs so as not to alert the neighbours.

Outside, snow swirled in thick flurries. Ellen stumbled down the street, barely registering the road beneath her feet. She couldnt return to her mothersJonathan would check straightaway. Not to friends, either, for the questions theyd ask. There remained one pitiful refuge: the 24-hour café by the railway station, where she could linger over a tepid cup of tea all night.

She chose the stickiest table in the corner, ordered the cheapest brew, and pulled out her phone. The wallpaper was a family photo from a year ago, all broad smiles and sunburn in Mallorca. Christopher grinning, arm round Jonathans shoulders. Jonathan gazing at her with such warmth

How swiftly life can unravel.

She drifted back to that night: Christopher, borrowing Jonathans car without permissionjust taking a girl for a ride. He had no licence, only a bit of practice on country roads. Jonathan was at work. Christopher returned after an hour, pale, shaking, with a broken headlamp.

Hed knelt at her feet, weeping, gibbering that it was dark, that it was a village road, the girl had darted from behind a coach, hed panicked and driven off.

Ellens decision had been instant. Maternal instinct trampled sense, law, and conscience. She knew Jonathans uncompromising codehed have summoned the police immediately. Face your actionsthat was his mantra.

She hid the car in a friends lock-up. Forced Christopher to say nothing. Next day, she tracked down the girls father.

His name was Nicholas.

She found him through a police contact, lying that they just wanted to help, had seen something. She visited his tiny council flat, heavy with the stench of poverty and sorrow. Nicholas sat at the kitchen table, clutching a photograph of his little girl and working through a bottle of whisky.

Ellens resolve crumbled. The truth burst out: it was her son, he hadnt meant it, was young and stupidshe would do anything to avoid destroying his life with a prison sentence.

Nicholas hadnt raged or struck out. He named a figureimpossibly large, beyond hope. For a headstone, hed mumbled, and so I can leave town and try to forget. He insisted Christopher must suffer; that theyd have to live in fear until theyd paid everything.

Now here she was, alone in the station café, with her pawned bracelet, sold coat, debts with every bank and lender in Londonand still the money fell short.

Next morning, she phoned work, feigning illness. By nightfall, she needed to find another £2,000.

She hustled through the day: payday loans, the pawnshop for her laptop, borrowing from an old classmate on the pretense of an urgent operation.

By five, shed scraped together thick, mismatched wads of notes in a battered brown envelope.

She tried Jonathans mobile, but he declined her call. She texted Christopher: Itll all work out. Be strong. Dad wont find out. No reply.

Ellen went to the cold warren of council flats in the outer boroughs. Nicholass building was even drearier in the dusk, battered brick and dimly-lit corridors.

She climbed to the third floor. Nicholass door was ajar; he was expecting her.

Chaos reigned inside. Belongings scatteredhe was clearly packing up to leave. A bottle sat unfinished on the table. Nicholas looked worse than before: unshaven, red-rimmed eyes, hands shaking.

Have you brought it? His hoarse greeting.

Yes. Ellen laid the envelope on the table. Its everything. As we agreed. You withdraw your statementno more evidence. You leave London.

Nicholas weighed the envelope in his hand, then gave a mirthless smirk.

You think money fills the hole in my world?

I dont know what to think, she said softly. I just want to save my son. You promised.

I did He tossed the envelope back. Well, Ive changed my mind.

Ellens breath caught.

Changed your mind?

Not enough, he stepped toward her, stinking of spirits. Saw your husband yesterday, you know. Nice car. Smart man, clearly doing well for himself. But you scrape together pennies from pawnshops for me?

He doesnt know! she cried. That cars all we have. We get by on our salaries.

Maybe he ought to find out! Nicholas shouted. Let him see what sort of son hes raised! My childs in the ground, yours feasts at home?

Please, Ellen folded her hands in silent pleading. Ill find more. Ill sell the car, Ill manage somethingjust give me time!

No time! Nicholas seized her arm. Ring your husband now. Tell him to bring five grand, or Im on to the police!

And then, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridorshed left the door open in her hurry. It swung wide.

Jonathan stood there, pallid as a shroud, phone clenched in his fistthe screen glowing with her location.

I thought as much, he whispered, eyes fixed on the grimy hand gripping his wifes wrist. Family locator still on, you fool. Didnt you even think to turn it off?

His gaze skipped to Nicholas, then to the envelope on the table.

Well? Jonathans voice was tight with fury. Whats it cost for a night with my wife?

Ellen wrenched her arm free.

Jonathan, its not

Shut up! he growled. I saw you go in. Here, to this hovel, to this his glance at Nicholas was all disdain. Id hoped for better taste. Thought it was a colleague, a boss, but this

Suddenly Nicholas laughed, a brutal, jagged sound.

Her lover? he wheezed. You really think that?

Be quiet! Ellen lunged for Nicholas, covering his mouth. Dont you dare! Jonathan, go, pleaseIll explain everything at home!

Jonathan shoved her aside.

No. I want to hear itnow that Im here.

Nicholas wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and stared at Jonathan with perverse pity.

Are you blindor just thick? Shes not sleeping with me. Shes buying me.

What? Jonathans brow furrowed.

Shes buying your peace of mind. Nicholas thrust a photograph, rimmed in black ribbon, under Jonathans nose. Here. Recognise her?

Jonathan took the photo, eyes narrowing. They widened in horror.

This that girl? The one in the news. Hit-and-run, three weeks ago, out beyond Richmond. The driver fled.

Bingo, Nicholas spat. Now ask your saintly wife who drove. Whose car it was.

No sound but stunned silence, stretched so taut it ached. Jonathan turned to Ellen slowly. His expression showed a terror far beyond suspicion of infidelity.

Ellen? he said, nearly inaudible. The car was in the garage. You said the battery was flat, took the keys

Ellens knees buckled. She sank to the floor.

Im sorry, she howled. It was Christopher. He took the keys. It was an accident. Jonathan, hes our son!

Jonathan didnt scream. Didnt move. He simply stood, staring at the wife kneeling at a strangers feet, and at that stranger, drunk on vengeance and grief.

Jonathans face had gone ashen. As an A&E doctor, hed seen death dailybut now, death had come to his own family, knocked at his own door, and reclaimed his own sons face.

Christopher? he asked dully. My son killed a child?

It was an accident! He didnt mean to! Ellen shrieked.

He drove away, Nicholas said tersely. Left her to die alone. The ambulance came after fifteen minutes. If hed stopped, called for help maybe shed have lived.

Jonathan sagged, clutching the doorframe.

And you knew? he looked at Ellen as though she were a stranger. All these weeks?

I was protecting him! Ellen wept. Hed have been sent to prison! Hed die there! I wanted to pay, to put it right…

Pay? Jonathan eyed the envelope. A childs life, for two grand? Or whatever you scraped together?

I took what I could, Nicholas said. But I want more. I want your son behind bars.

Jonathan strode to the envelope. He weighed it, then flung its contents at Nicholas. Notes scattered across the filthy carpet.

Take your blood money. Im not buying my conscience.

He turned to Ellen, jerking her to her feet.

Get up. Were going home.

Jonathan, please, she babbled, barely able to stand. Lets talkhes our boy

Quiet, he snarled. Youre not to speak another word until we reach home. Not a word.

They left under Nicholass silent, watchful eyes.

The drive was wordless. Jonathans hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles blanched. Ellen sank as small as possible in the passengers seat, barely daring to breathe.

Back in the flat, Christopher sat in the kitchen, a full mug of cold tea before him. He leapt up as they entered, knocking the chair back.

Dad? Did you make up with Mum?

Jonathan crossed to him; though Christopher now stood taller than his father, he seemed small and fragile.

Put your coat on, Jonathan said.

Where are we going? Christopher looked, terrified, at Ellen. She stood rigid in the hall, silent tears streaking her face.

To the police, Jonathan said simply.

Christopher collapsed onto the stool.

Dad, no! Please, Dad, Mum sorted it! Dad, please! he sobbed.

Mum sorted it? Jonathans face twisted. She bought you a first-class ticket to hell, my lad. Youve been eating, sleeping, and gaming these last weeks while a child lies in the ground?

I dont sleep! Christopher screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. I see her every night! Dad, Im scared!

Scared, are you? Jonathan grabbed him by the collar, shaking him. Wasnt that poor girl scared, dying on the road? Or her father, alone in that empty flat?

Jon, please! Ellen rushed to them. Hes just a child!

Hes no childhes a grown man who committed a crime and hid behind his mums skirts! Jonathan shoved her away, turning to Ellen in agony. You betrayed me, Ellen. Not because you were unfaithful, but because you made me a laughingstock. You thought I couldnt handle the truth. That our familys honour was worth whatever you could scrape up.

I was afraid youd turn him in! she screamed.

I would have, Jonathan replied quietly. And stood by him, every step. Wed have got a solicitor. Fought for leniency. Paid what the court decided, openly. Wed have faced people honestly. Now? Now were cowardsand worse.

Christopher slid to the floor, head in his hands, keening like a wounded animal.

Jonathan knelt down.

Look at me, Christopher.

His son looked up, cheeks red and blotchy.

If we dont go now, Jonathan said quietly, youll never be free of this. This guilt will eat you alive. Do you want to jump every time you hear a siren? To live your life waiting for that man to come for you?

No, Dad. I cantI just cant.

Then get up. Ill be with you. I wont abandon you. But you must do the right thing.

Christopher got to his feet, wiping his face, something like purpose in his eyes for the first time in weeks.

Lets go, he said.

Jonathan nodded. He turned to Ellen.

You stay here.

Im coming too! She grabbed her coat.

No, Jonathan said, raising a hand. Your parts done. You tried to buy his soul; let me see if I can help save it.

Can you ever forgive me, Jonathan? she whispered, knowing the answer would destroy her.

He looked at her a long time, studying the features hed loved for half his life.

An affairI couldve forgiven that. People are weak. But this? You watched me go mad with suspicion, let me sufferjust to hide your guilt.

He opened the door, letting Christopher through.

I dont know how to live with this. I dont know if Ill ever get over it.

The door closed behind them.

Ellen was alone in the dead silence of the flat. The pawn ticket had slipped from Jonathans pocket and lay on the doormat.

She went to the window. In the halo of the streetlight, two figuresone broad, one hunchedmade their way through the snow to the car. They didnt touch, but walked side by side.

Ellen pressed her forehead against the chilly pane. The truth had come out, and it was worse than any infidelity. It hadnt just ended their pastit had wiped out their future. But down there, father and son trudged through the storm, trying at least to reclaim their honour in the present.

She slid down the wall andfor the first time in three weekscried not from fear, but for the knowledge that the damage was irreparable. The trial would be long; the sentence, real. But the cruelest judgement had been handed down here, five minutes ago, and there was no appeal.