Small tendrils of doubt began to creep into the back of Martha’s mind. Tiny details, seeming inconsequential at the time, now began to swirl around, connecting like jigsaw pieces in her mind.

_ Oh, I don’t really hang out with my colleagues; there’s really only my old boss, his EA, another middle-aged guy and me. No point in you meeting them when I barely socialise with them myself._

_ Where I’m from is such a small town, no one ever knows it, but it’s just a bit east of Ballarat. My family has all since moved away; I never go back._

Laura, this woman she had let into her life, her heart, her soul; the woman she had trusted with her deepest secrets, was lying to her.

Overcome with suspicion, dark thoughts keeping her awake at night as Laura slept soundly beside her, Martha had to find out more. She had to see for herself, to prove it was just her suspicious mind and nothing more, to put her worries at ease.

One morning, after parting at the station and kissing each other goodbye, Martha slowed her steps, stopped to browse a newsstand. She turned, searching for Laura’s fuscia scarf draped over her shoulders. She was heading to the train platform. Walking briskly up the length of the train, ignoring the closest carriage, heading for the front as she always did.

Martha walked, trying to keep pace, trying to remain hidden behind tall men in suits, gangley teenage boys in their starched blazers. The flash of fuscia remained in her line of sight. She started to head for one of the back carriages, intent on keeping as far back as she could. Suddenly, the fuscia scarf turned, moved quickly to the left.

Pivoting quickly, ignoring the annoyed looks and cursing behind her as she knocked into people, Martha struggled through the sea of people towards the escalators leading up to the concourse. Laura was almost at the top now, slipping effortlessly through the crowd.

Martha pushed past the people on the escalator, murmuring apologies as she went, quickening her pace as she lost sight of Laura. One last push through the crowd and she was at the top, bursting out into the wide open space of the station concourse.

Stepping to the side to avoid being trampled, she scanned the cavernous space in front of her, searing for that purple scrap of fabric. Left, right, down towards the other platforms, across to the food stands she looked. But that flutter of fuscia was nowhere to be seen. Laura had vanished.