As I opened the door, silence wrapped itself around me like a fleece blanket. The house was empty and I was alone. Married just three months, our roles as husband and wife were not the loving equals I had anticipated. The house was never quite clean enough, never tidy enough for James’s high standards and I only found respite from his nagging in stolen moments in the bathroom.

The only girl of seven siblings, I’d been oblivious to the bikes and balls and boots that blocked the hallway of our family home. The first time I visited James I was in awe of the shine, the sheen, the pure perfection of his house. But as a home it felt cold and sterile, more museum library than love nest, and my own attempts to inject some homeliness were met with anger.

But tonight I was home alone for the first time since our wedding; the first time ever. I popped open a bottle of fizz and threw a ready meal into the microwave. While the curry rotated, I spun in circles in time to the music in my head. For the first time in months I felt relaxed, at peace, and happy and the feeling made me smile.

A knock at the door, a rattle at the window. Still revelling in joyfulness, I danced my way along the hallway and opened the door. But as my visitor read me my rights and snapped the cuffs around my wrists, the feeling faded.