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“Seriously? You haven’t spoken since?”

He shakes his head. “Why? What happened?”

“We broke up, Mitch. He walked out on me.”

There’s a long, protracted silence.

“I’m sorry?” he says eventually.

“He left. Six months ago today, actually.”

“He left you? What the fuck! Why?”

His indignation almost makes me smile. “The marriage broke down,” I say simply. “After the accident.” I look back out at the view.

Jayden was an electrician. Eighteen months ago, he was up a ladder, fixing some wiring on an old house, when he slipped and fell. He was rushed to hospital, and they carried out an emergency operation on his back. Unfortunately, complications followed, and as a result, his spine never healed properly.

“He was in a lot of pain,” I continue. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly before looking back at him. “He was so angry, Mitch. At the doctors for their failure to make him better, and at the world, or God, or Fate, for letting it happen. And at me and Millie, because we were the only ones there, and we were healthy, I guess.”

His jaw knots. “I know he took it out on you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn’t bear it. And I told him so.”

I stare at him, astonished. “When?”

“Last Christmas. I saw him push you.”

“Oh…” Suddenly it all makes sense.

Last year, a few days before Christmas, when Mitch came home to visit John, we invited some of our friends to the house to catch up over drinks. Jayden was in a lot of pain, and at one point, when the two of us went into the kitchen to refresh the drinks, his back spasmed and he knocked over a full bottle of wine. It went everywhere, and he immediately started cursing everyone and everything, including—as I tried to clear it up—me, for trying to help.

“You treat me like an invalid,” he snapped. I’m not completely hopeless.”

“I know…” I protested. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I broke it. I’ll fucking clear it up.” He snatched the cloth out of my hand and pushed me away, and I stumbled into the kitchen counter and bruised my hip.

Everyone was in the living room, and I hadn’t thought anyone had heard us, but at the end of the evening, Mitch had taken Jayden outside. That was the last I saw of him. Jayden refused to tell me what they’d spoken about, and Mitch left for Wellington the next morning.

“I told him he was out of order,” Mitch says. “We… argued about it, and other things.” His eyes flare, but he doesn’t elaborate. “He told me to fuck off. He said it was his relationship, and you were his wife, and it was nothing to do with me. I didn’t know what to do. You were his wife, and it was none of my business. So… I walked away. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

We stand there quietly, listening to the seagulls. Holy shit. I never realised.

“I feel terrible,” he admits eventually. “I should have stayed in touch with you. Supported you. But I couldn’t bear it. You looked so unhappy.”

“I was.” I clear my throat, feeling disloyal, even after everything that’s happened. “He was in such pain.”

“Yeah, and I realise I have no idea what that feels like. I still can’t believe they bungled his operation so badly.”

“It shocked me how much permanent pain can change a person,” I continue. “I mean, he’d always had a temper, but he’d cool down quickly. But the pain, and not being able to do the things he loved…”

“I get that. I know he missed playing rugby. It was his whole world, apart from you and Millie.”

I give a short, humourless laugh. “Be honest. It was always more important to him than we were.”

His brows draw together, but he doesn’t contradict me. We both know that Jayden lived for rugby, and it would always come first in his life.

I exhale, and it feels as if I’m finally releasing the tension that has built up inside me over the past few years. The words tumble out with it. “The doctors said he needed to try to rebuild the strength in his muscles around his spine if he wanted to play again, but he knew it was unlikely he’d ever get anywhere close to the level of fitness he used to have. He was supposed to do physio and go to the gym, but he said they didn’t understand and he was in too much pain to exercise. He put on ten kilos in eighteen months. He refused to go back to work. He sank into a deep depression. And Millie and I were the only ones there, so yeah, he took it out on us. Not physically,” I add as I see his sharp gaze, “that push you saw was the only time he touched me, but it was almost as bad.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry…”